Jump the Shark
by poorpiratelass
Summary: In which the story behind Patrick’s keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.
1. Prologue

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing that has anything to do with Eric Kripke's _Supernatural_ or ABC Family's _10 Things I Hate About You_. If I did, there would be three very shirtless men running about my apartment, and I would never get any writing done.

AN: Because this story will be floating around out there in crossover land, I want to specify that I am using the ABC Family version of _10 Things I Hate About You_. As in, the TV show. Nothing against the movie, but I honestly prefer the TV show. When I think Kat and Patrick, I think Lindsay Shaw and Ethan Peck. Possibly because of Peck's deep, sexy voice. Gets me every time. ;) And the TV verse of _10 Things_ fits better with my story anyway. So there you have it. I'm shutting up. Enjoy.

* * *

Prologue:

Patrick Verona knows a little about a lot of things.

He knows that rock salt will repel an angry spirit.

He knows that sulfur means demons.

He knows that a silver bullet through the heart will kill a werewolf or a shape shifter, and he knows that no matter what Stephanie Meyer might think, vampires do _not_ sparkle.

He knows how to take apart, clean, and put back together a gun. He can also shoot a gun. And he never misses.

He knows what his mother is thinking when she looks at John Winchester. And he knows that John Winchester will never feel the same way.

So it didn't surprise him when John stopped coming around. Even at 14, he knew the score far better than Isabelle Verona ever would. Not because she was stupid, not because she was too in love to see the truth… but because she lied to herself every day, and Patrick couldn't bring himself to call her on it.

He doesn't have a lot left of John Winchester. A box full of charms, a couple guns, a collection of knives, a shelf of old books.

And a keychain. A keychain with a picture inside it. The picture is of him and John. Patrick is ten. John hasn't grown the beard yet. They are at the San Diego zoo. And they are both smiling.

The picture is a lie, and he knows it. But he likes to look at it, every now and again.

No one knows about John Winchester. But then, no one really knows anything about Patrick Verona. They know he has a bitching motorcycle and a way with the ladies. They know if they look at him funny, they might die. They know his mom is a Mexican drug lord, and they know that his dad is in the mafia. They know that he, Patrick, has tasted human flesh. Once, he ate a live duck. Everything but the beak and feet.

No one knows that Patrick's mother is a stripper at the cowboy bar two towns over. No one knows that Patrick's father has been M.I.A. for the past three years, and that prior to his last visit, he was almost never around. The man only dropped in for three weekends a year.

No one knows that Patrick's father spends his time driving around cross country hunting demons. No one knows that Patrick's father is John Winchester.

And Patrick plans to keep it that way.

The man taught him ninety percent of the things he knows. He did it so Patrick could keep himself safe – keep his mother safe. He wasn't schooled in the world of the supernatural so he could sneak out late at night and hunt ghosts.

But Patrick does this anyway. Every time he hears a place is haunted, he can't stop himself from checking it out. Breaking and entering. Running an EMF. Researching in the public library. Climbing over the fence and into some graveyard. Digging up a body. Salting and burning the bones.

His mother knows. It pisses her off.

But it's not like she can really stop him.

He does it because John wouldn't like it. John didn't want him to hunt. John just wanted him to be prepared.

Patrick loves doing things that John wouldn't have liked.

His ghost-hunting hobby is just one more thing that no one in Padua knows about. One more thing he'll never tell anybody.

Except, sometimes, lately more and more, Patrick wants to tell someone all about it.

He wants to tell Kat Stratford.

He won't. She won't get it. He knows she won't get it. She's the practical sort. She doesn't believe in things like ghosts and demons and shape shifters.

It's not like she would help him. He can just see her tagging along on a hunt. Complaining that breaking and entering is illegal, not to mention an invasion on somebody's first amendment rights. Scolding him about grave desecration being disrespectful to the dead. Taking one look at his weapons collection and delivering a sermon about the importance of gun control.

Still, he wants to tell her.

He's not going to. But if he was ever going to tell someone, he knows she'd be the one he told.

He doesn't miss John. John was never really Dad. It has always been Patrick and his mom. The two of them against the world.

Still, every time he breaks a rule or a law, every time he drives too fast, every time he blows away a spirit with a rock salt loaded shotgun shell, he knows he gets an undeniable thrill because he is John Winchester's son. He is more like John Winchester than he will ever be like Isabelle Verona. He knows that when his mom looks at him, listens to him, she sees and hears his father.

And sometimes, that makes him want to punch a wall.

Because Patrick really can't stand his father.

If he ever sees that man again, he's going to tell him so.


	2. Stupid Colored Contacts

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Thanks to Cate and Me for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 1: Stupid Colored Contacts

Kat Stratford is late.

Her father is going to kill her.

She races out of the high school. The sun has set, and the lamps in the school parking lot cast eerie shadows across the cracked asphalt.

This isn't her fault. It was that stupid, stupid yearbook meeting. Why the hell did she sign up for that teenage nostalgia nightmare anyway?

She's missed dinner. It's after dark. And her father is going to be so pissed, that she can kiss leaving the house ever again goodbye.

She makes it to the ancient Volvo on the far end of the lot. She digs out her keys and unlocks the driver's side door.

A man's raspy voice stops her cold.

"Hello there."

Kat spins, hand in her purse, searching for her tazer.

He isn't remarkably tall or muscular. She guesses he's in his forties. The man has faint lines that crinkle on his gently weathered face. His graying hair is cropped close to his head.

"Hi," she says, smirking, keeping up her bravado, still searching for that tazer. "You know, you really shouldn't sneak up on people."

He chuckles. His chuckle is as raspy as his words. "I apologize. Where are my manners?"

Her fingers close around the tazer. Instant relief washes through her. This perv tries anything, and he'll be on the wrong end of 1500 volts.

"I don't know," she replies, still smirking. "Clearly not on this side of the parking lot. I recommend getting lost."

He chuckles again. "Well, well. You're just as rude as I am, aren't you?"

"I'm about to get ruder."

"Feisty," he grins. Her fingers tighten on the tazer. "Why oh why am I not surprised?"

"I'm in a hurry," she says. "What exactly do you want?"

He steps closer. "Kat, is it?"

He knows her name. Creepy strangers in the school parking lot she can deal with. But creepy strangers who know her name? She has reached a whole new level of uncomfortable.

"Depends on who wants to know."

Another chuckle crackles out of the man's chest. "I'm a friend," he tells her.

"Not of mine."

"No." The stranger is clearly amused. "I suppose we don't yet know one another well enough to call ourselves friends. But in time, I hope to remedy that."

"Don't hold your breath. You might suffocate before that happens."

The man is still all smirks and chuckles. He takes another step closer. Too close, as a matter of fact. Out comes the tazer.

She hits the button, and electricity crackles out the end. The man stops, raising an eyebrow, never losing the smirk. "Freeze, perv," she orders, glaring at him. "This thing is fully charged, and I'm more than happy to use it."

"Now, now," the man says, holding up his hands. "No need to get violent. I just want to chat."

"Make it snappy."

"Your boyfriend. Patrick."

Kat narrows her eyes. It's on the tip of her tongue to protest that Patrick Verona is not her boyfriend. She has no idea what Patrick Verona is when it comes to her. But she senses this is irrelevant, and she has no desire to prolong this conversation.

"What about him?"

"I have a message for him."

"Well, he goes to school in the very same building I do," Kat smirks again. "So why don't you talk to him?"

"Can't get near him," the man drawls, still wearing his own smirk. "Boy knows his business. But really, considering his roots… can't say I'm all that surprised."

She has no rejoining quip for this comment. Her knowledge of Patrick's roots is the equivalent of zero.

"His father is looking for him," the man continues. "He wants to get in touch."

"Then why doesn't he?" Kat snaps.

"Not that simple," the man returns. "Patrick will understand why. I just need you to tell him something."

"Do I look like a carrier pigeon?" she retorts. "Send him an email."

"You tell Patrick that I know where his father is," the man says, ignoring her sidebar. "And I'm willing to help the two reconcile. All he needs to do is show up at the beach. That special spot he likes. A week from today, next Thursday night at nine. I'll be waiting."

The man takes another step closer. Kat threatens him with the tazer once again.

He chuckles. "Tell him to come. Meet me. Hear about Daddy. Or I can't be held responsible for what happens next."

"And what will happen next?"

"Weren't you listening? _Kat_? I can't be held responsible."

It's a threat. The man looks like he's laughing on the inside, and Kat wants to hit him with the tazer.

As though he reads her mind, the man glances ironically at the tazer, and then takes one more step. Kat's back brushes the driver's door of the Volvo. She glares, chin tilted towards the sky.

"You're a brave one," he tells her. "I like that in a woman."

"Back off."

"That little novelty toy of yours? If I really wanted to hurt you, it wouldn't stop me."

"Want to test that theory?"

He closes his eyes, tilts his chin towards the ground. When he snaps his head back up to look at her, his eyes are no longer an ordinary, boring blue. They are yellow. Two glowing circles of yellow. Like the harsh lighting over their heads.

She gasps in spite of herself. Stares at him in disbelief. He smirks again.

"Trust me, Kat. You don't want to tangle with the likes of me."

She finds her voice. Recovers her courage. "Nice trick," she spits at him. "Where'd you learn that one? Criss Angel?"

He laughs throatily. "I like you."

"Feeling _not_ mutual."

"I really wish I could stick around to see how this all plays out. But you know. Places to be, things to do… all that jazz."

He steps back from her, eyes still glowing yellow. She stares at him, trying to hold onto her murderous glare.

"Tell Patrick to meet me. Next Thursday. I'll solve all his Daddy issues. And if he doesn't come… I'm going to give him some more issues. And they won't be nearly as much fun as the ones he has now."

She swallows.

"Bye now, Kat. I'll be seeing you."

The wind picks up, blowing fiercely across the lot. Her hair whips into her face. She brushes it frantically from her eyes.

The man is gone.

The wind dies down. Kat glances all around the parking lot, but there is no sign of the man with the yellow eyes.

She throws open the door. Jumps into the car. Checks the backseat. Then she slams the door and locks everything.

Her hands are shaking as she starts the ignition. Her stomach is trying to escape her body through her esophagus. Kat is _scared_. And she doesn't care for it.

Patrick Verona is about to be one seriously sorry bastard.

* * *

Patrick leans against the locker that Friday morning, waiting for her.

Almost every morning he does this. Leans against the locker next to hers. Waits for her to fly up the hallway, determined and on a mission.

When she stalks up to her locker this Friday morning, she is decidedly pissed off.

Patrick senses immediately that he is in trouble.

She twists the combination dial. Throws open the locker door. It clangs loudly into the neighboring locker.

"I met a friend of yours last night," she tells him frostily.

He laughs. She glares. He frowns.

"I don't have any friends," he returns, only half joking.

"Really?" she retorts, not looking at him as she bangs things around inside her locker. "Well, the man I met in the parking lot last night says different."

That doesn't sound good. Still, he's confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he informs her.

"And I'm not sure I know what _you're _about," she snaps, finally turning and meeting his eyes. "But I do know that sending your creepy friends to stalk me around the school parking lot, wearing some stupid colored contacts, is not the way into my pants."

He blinks. "I thought there was _no_ way into your pants," he smirks. Then, instantly, the smirk is gone. "And I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Come off it," she says, angry. More than angry, really. He frowns.

Kat Stratford is scared.

He is literally speechless.

"Some creepy old jerk with yellow contact lenses snuck up behind me in the parking lot last night," she barrels on. "And he claimed to know you. Said he wanted me to deliver a message."

She is so mad at him. Patrick is getting worried. Not because she's mad. But because apparently she is scared. Apparently, she is serious. And he's not entirely sure what to do.

"Well," he says slowly. "What's the message?"

She huffs. Glowers. Folds her arms across her chest. "Unbelievable."

He shouldn't say it, but his tongue gets the best of him. "That was the message?"

Her fury escalates, as expected. She turns away from him and slams her locker shut. She makes to storm off down the hall, her long brown hair swishing around behind her.

He catches her arm. "Kat," he says.

Patrick doesn't usually say her name. He's not sure why, but he doesn't. And she's noticed this. Because when he does say her name, she stops short.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," he tells her, trying hard to sound earnest. It's difficult for him, even when he's telling the truth. "Will you just tell me what happened?"

She glares at him again. Then she takes a deep, shaky breath. And now he knows for sure that she's getting angry because it's the only way she can deal with being scared.

He really doesn't know how to handle this.

"He said he knows where your father is."

Patrick's jaw clenches. Apparently, so does his hand on her arm, because she winces and tries to pull away.

He relaxes his hold on her but doesn't let go. He's afraid she'll run and he's not done asking questions. "What else?"

She's quieter now. Frowning in confusion, her brown eyes are fixed on the hallway linoleum.

"He said your father wants to get in touch with you."

Patrick snorts bitterly before he can stop himself. She looks up at him in surprise.

He clears his throat. "Anything else?"

She inhales. "He said he can help you and your father reconcile. He wants you to meet him at the beach, at your spot, next Thursday. Nine pm."

"Meet my father?"

She shakes her head. "No. Just creepy parking lot guy."

He snorts again. "Right. Cause I'm going to do that."

"Patrick…"

Her tone is hesitant. He frowns. "What?"

"He… he said if you don't meet him that… that…"

"_What?_"

"He said he can't be held responsible for what happens next."

They fall into a long, heavy silence.

Patrick looks her in the eye. "Did he say _what's _going to happen next?"

Kat shakes her head. "He wouldn't tell me."

"What did this guy look like?"

"I don't know… average. Mid forties. Like I said, the only weird thing about him was…"

"The yellow contacts."

"Right." She chuckles a little, sounding nervous. "Cool contacts though. One minute, his eyes were just blue. You know, completely normal. Then suddenly… yellow."

He stares at her.

Kat stares back, clinging to a smile. "I didn't even know they made contacts like that," she adds.

She sounds like she's begging him. Please say they were contacts. That's what he expects her to say next.

"Me either," he says.

He lets go of her arm. Randomly changing his eye color like that… Patrick can think of only one thing in this world that can actually do that with its eyes. But demons… their eyes are black. Empty. Opaque.

Not yellow.

"Patrick," she says. "What's going on?"

He clears his throat. Scratches the back of his neck. Shrugs. "Don't really know. I'll see you later, all right?"

He turns to leave.

"Seriously?" she calls after him.

He looks at her. She's mad again.

"Really, Patrick?" she asks incredulously. "You're just going to walk away? You're not going to tell me what this is all about?"

He sighs harshly. "I already told you I don't know what's going on."

Kat's eyes narrow. She shakes her head. "Whatever," she spits.

She turns and marches away.

Patrick regrets his response. But it's too late.

Well, not exactly too late. He knows he can chase after her. He knows if he just talks to her, she'll soften right up. She's getting good at that. It used to be harder for her to forgive him.

But he has to make a phone call.

He ducks outside. The bell rings for first period, but Patrick doesn't care. It wouldn't be the first time he was late. It won't be the last.

He dials. Puts his cell to his ear.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

His mother answers the phone groggily. He's woke her up. She worked last night.

"Sorry, Mom," he says. "But… but something happened. I think it's about John."

Isabelle Verona is instantly all ears, and Patrick hates that. It's pathetic in a grown woman. But he doesn't say anything. Pathetic or not, it's still his mom. She's the only one who stays. He loves her.

And he knows she'll call John. Someone needs to call John now, after what Kat just told him. And Patrick needs his mother to do it. Because he can't. He cannot call John.

He won't.


	3. Somewhere in South Dakota

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Big thanks to CatPhish and Lobke for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 2: Somewhere in South Dakota

Isabelle Verona waits until her son hangs up the phone, and does the same.

The story about a mystery man with yellow eyes following her son's friend around the school parking lot… well, she'll have to call John, won't she?

She hasn't had an excuse to call John in years. She needs reasons to call him, understand. This is because he left three years ago for good. Said goodbye to Patrick, and then never came back. Never even called. Cut his son – cut _her_ – out of his life.

She's called him before. He never answers. But this time it will have to be different.

A strange sort of demon has threatened Patrick's life. That's how it sounds to her. John will come running. She is sure of it.

She picks the cell phone up. Scrolls down through the contact list. Hits dial when she reaches John Winchester.

The phone rings. And rings and rings and rings. It goes to voicemail.

"Hello, this is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. His number is 785-555-0179. He can help."

The phone slips from her hand. Isabelle stares at her bedroom wall, her face white.

John Winchester _does_ have a son. This she knows. She knows because she raised that son. Worked two jobs to support him. That son's name is Patrick.

She is fuming. That bastard. To never tell her about his other kid… to never tell Patrick he had a brother. Patrick had always wanted a brother.

Not one part of her wants to call this Dean kid. Not one part of her wants to talk to the other son.

But this _is_ an emergency. Her son's life might depend on getting in touch with John – or with Dean. And so, Isabelle dials the number from the voicemail message, hoping that for once John is telling the truth.

Hoping that Dean can help.

* * *

Dean Winchester cackles happily, running his hands over the new, shiny, dent-free hood he's placed over the Impala's engine.

His younger brother Sam leans against a rusted out Camero in Bobby Singer's junkyard, arms folded, watching Dean with a small amused smile.

"My baby's just about street worthy," Dean says, kneeling down in the dirt and reaching for the creeper by the front bumper. He cackles again, laying on the creeper and then disappearing beneath the Impala.

Sam shakes his head. "You're like a kid," he tells his brother. "A kid in a candy store."

Dean's cell rings. "Hey, Sammy!" Dean calls from under the car. "Answer that, will you?"

Sam rolls his eyes, reaching for the leather jacket hanging off the Camero. He digs into one of the pockets and withdraws Dean's phone. "Hello?" he answers.

"Am I speaking with Dean?"

It's a woman's voice. She sounds almost prim, but mostly nervous. Sam frowns. "Um… no… this is Sam… but you've reached Dean's phone. Who is this?"

The woman sighs heavily. "I really need to speak with Dean. Is he available?"

Sam's frown deepens. He glances over at Dean. "He's kind of busy right now… look, can I help you? Is this about a hunt?"

"I'd like to speak with Dean."

They're going nowhere fast, so Sam concedes – with a request. "All right, then. Sure thing. Can I get a name?"

She sighs again. When she answers, her tone is reluctant. "Isabelle Verona."

This means nothing to Sam, but maybe Dean will recognize the name. Pressing the cell phone's speakers against his shoulder, Sam stands up straight off the Camero and crosses to the Impala, where Dean's leg pokes out from under the car. He kicks Dean's boot. "Hey," he says. "There's a woman on the phone, and she won't speak to anyone but you."

"Oh yeah?" Dean chuckles. "Stalker chick, huh? She got a name?"

"Isabelle Verona."

"Who?"

Sam sighs harshly. "You're a jerk, you know that? At least remember their names. Write them down somewhere if you have to."

Dean creeps out from under the car and squints up at his brother. "No, seriously. Who the hell is Isabelle Verona? I've never heard that name in my life."

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. But she won't talk to anyone but you. Will you just take the phone?"

Dean rolls his eyes, looking harassed, and snatches the phone from Sam's outstretched hand. "Yeah?" he asks into the speaker.

"Hello, is this Dean?"

"Yeah, this is Dean. You said your name was Isabelle?"

"Um… yes. I don't suppose you know who I am?"

"Sorry, lady, no dice."

She snorts. Bitterly. "Of course you don't. Look, I'm trying to get a hold of your father. John. I called his phone, but the voicemail said…"

Dean snaps. "How the hell do you know my father?"

Sam perks up, interested.

Her voice gets all tight. "Why shouldn't I know your father?"

"My father's a private person, ma'am," Dean drawls sarcastically. "What do you want him for?"

"I need his help," she spits. "And I don't appreciate the attitude."

Dean doesn't appreciate her phone call, but he doesn't say that. He chews on the inside of his mouth. "Well, sorry, lady. My Dad's not taking callers."

"Dean," Sam reprimands him from the sidelines.

The woman on the other end is angry. "Well, he's going to take this call, do you hear me? His son is in danger, and it's all his fault!"

Dean goes cold. "What?"

"Look, I'm sorry, all right? I know you're John's son. I know that if you don't recognize my name, that this is about to be a bit of a shock. But my son, Patrick…"

"My Dad has two sons," Dean growls. "Me, and my brother Sam. And that's it."

"There's another one?"

She sounds as furious as he feels. Dean doesn't care. He's not in the mood.

"I don't know who you think you are, lady…"

Sam suddenly snatches the phone away from Dean. Dean glares at him, but Sam ignores him. "Miss Verona?" Sam asks into the phone.

"Who is this?"

"It's Sam again. You're trying to reach my father?"

"Well… yes, but…"

"I'm really sorry about Dean," Sam soothes her. She sounds flustered and angry. Sam glances at his brother, who's sitting on the ground with a murderous glower etched into his brow. Sam moves out of Dean's earshot.

"He's just upset right now," Sam tries to explain. "My father… John… um… he passed away."

A long silence follows this announcement.

"Oh, no," Isabelle says into the phone. There is genuine heartbreak in the words. Sam hears her voice crack.

"Miss Verona?"

"John's dead?"

"Yes. I'm… I'm sorry for you to find out this way. It was very recent. A few weeks ago."

"Oh, no."

Sam can hear her crying on the other end of the phone, and it's making him uncomfortable. "You said you needed his help?" Sam asks.

"I… I…"

"Whatever it is you need, Dean and I can help," Sam assures her. "The whole ghost-hunting thing… it's kind of a family business."

She sighs heavily. "Oh, Sam, this is going to be hard to hear."

"I think I can handle it."

"Your father… well… I have a son."

"Yes?"

"His name is Patrick. He… oh, you're really not going to like this."

"You can tell me, Miss Verona."

"My son… his father… his father was… your father."

Sam can't respond right away. He hears the words, but they don't make sense.

"Sam?" Isabelle asks.

Sam's mouth moves, but no sound comes out. He stares at the horizon line unseeingly, suddenly stock still.

"Oh, dear," Isabelle frets.

Sam shakes his head. "Say that again?" he asks hoarsely.

"My son… he's your brother."

For a long time, neither Sam nor Isabelle speak.

When they do, Sam is the one to break the silence. He says, "Oh."

"I think he's in trouble," Isabelle says quietly. "Patrick. Some strange man was bothering a friend of his in the school parking lot last night. Talking about reconciling Patrick with his father. You know, John hasn't seen Patrick in three years."

Sam swallows. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No, no, it's not your fault," she's quick to say. "It's just… this man. He told this girl that Patrick's father wanted to get in touch. That he wanted to meet with Patrick and discuss finding his father. He… well, it sounds like he threatened my son. Said that if Patrick didn't do what he said, then he couldn't be responsible for what happened next."

Sam frowns. "I see."

"And… well, this girl. She says the man had yellow eyes."

Sam's heart stops.

"Sam?"

"Yellow eyes?"

"Yes. That's what she said."

Sam feels his stomach turn over. He wants to be sick.

"Ok," he says. "Look, you and your son need to stay safe, all right? Don't go anywhere alone, or… just watch yourselves all right?"

"Well, we do that anyway… Sam? What's wrong?"

"Where do you live?"

"Padua, California."

"Give me your address," Sam demands. "My brother and I are coming."

* * *

Dean's working on the car again, but now he's angry.

He's twisting things too hard, jerking things too viciously. He's cussing under his breath.

Sam approaches the Impala cautiously. "Dean?"

"What?"

"We're going to see Isabelle," he tells him. "We're going to Padua, California."

Dean slides out from under the car. He glares at his brother.

"Why the hell would we do that?"

Sam looks at his brother. "She says her son – this Patrick kid – she says he's our brother."

"And we just take her word for it?"

"Dean. She says he's in trouble."

"So?"

"_Our_ kind of trouble, Dean. She says a demon's going after him."

Dean is momentarily silenced. He glares at the dirt.

Sam takes a deep breath. "She says the demon has yellow eyes."

Dean looks at him.

For a long time, the two brothers just stare at one another. Silent.

Finally, Dean cusses.

"Damn it!"

Sam watches him.

Dean glances back at the car.

"I've got another hour's worth of work before we can take her on the highway," Dean announces. "Go pack our stuff, all right? We'll leave right after I'm done."

Sam smiles. "Thanks, Dean. You're making the right choice."

Dean glares at him. Sam loses the smile, nods quickly, and races for Bobby's house.

"Like hell I am," Dean grumbles. He slides back under the car. He attempts to return to his work.

He contemplates the possibility of having another little brother.

He throws a wrench.

He tries really fucking hard not to cry.

* * *

Kat is not talking to Patrick.

He wants to apologize, but he doesn't know how. He can count the number of times he's said sorry and meant it on one hand. He's never said it to anyone but Kat and his mom.

And Kat is a lot harder to apologize to than his mother. Isabelle Verona is a marshmallow, when it comes right down to it. Kat Stratford is a Sour Patch Kid.

He rolls his eyes at himself as he ambles down the high school hallway, heading for the exit. Great. Now he's comparing her to candy.

He's in so far over his head.

He ducks outside, into the sun, heading for his motorcycle. He straddles the bike, reaches for the helmet.

"You are such a jerk."

He looks up at the familiar voice. Kat is standing behind him, arms folded over her chest, glowering.

He smirks. "Yet you just can't seem to stay away."

"Just apologize to me."

He turns away. His hands rest on the handlebars. He squeezes a little too tight.

"For?"

She lets loose one loud, hair-raising screech of frustration. He whips his head back around to gawk at her.

"Look, buddy," she snaps. "I don't know what your deal is – hell, I'm starting to realize that I don't even really know _you._ But if I'm going to get followed around by creepy old men because of something _you_ did, and you won't even have the decency to explain what's going on, then I am out. Do you hear me? Out!"

"You're the one screaming at me for no good reason!" he snaps. "How is _this _my fault? You want to know what I think? I think you got cornered in the parking lot, and it scared you."

"I am not scared!"

"Yeah! You are! And you don't like it, so you're taking it out on me!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? 'Oh, Patrick, I'm just so terrified of that forty year old man in the Halloween costume! Won't you please climb into my window in the middle of the night and hold me!' Get over yourself!"

"Whatever."

He turns his back on her, starts the engine.

She steps in front of the bike. He sighs loudly, shaking his head. "_What?!_" he bites at her.

She blinks. Wavers. Almost leaves.

But she doesn't.

"Look," she says, and he can see her trying to reign in all her anger, all the biting comments and scathing looks she's probably spent all day storing up to use against him later. "I'm sorry I was pissy with you. All right?"

She cocks her head to the side as she asks, eyes widening slightly in that sarcastic, mocking expression she does so well.

He sneers.

"But I don't like being ignorant," she presses. "I'm a champion for knowledge. Ignorance is the true root of all evil. It destroys societies and corrupts the voting population. So… so I don't like not knowing what's going on!"

"And I already told you that I don't know what's going on either!" he shouts. "So stop yelling at me!"

It's half true.

Creepy yellow-eyed demon guy? Patrick's never heard of such a thing. He doesn't know why it's after him, what it wants with John… why it targeted Kat.

She crosses her arms over her chest again. "Ok," she concedes. "But you have to know _something_."

She's right.

He knows his father hunts demons. He knows that probably pisses other demons off. He knows that whatever this thing is, it can't be good news for either him or Kat.

He also knows she won't believe that.

And at any rate, he doesn't know how to tell her.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway," he says bitterly.

"Try me."

He doesn't.

He just pulls the helmet on over his head and revs the engine.

"Patrick!" she shouts at him, incensed.

He ignores her. He takes off across the parking lot, leaving her in his exhaust.

It gives him no satisfaction.


	4. Brotherly Love

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Thanks to CatPhish and Jules for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 3: Brotherly Love

Patrick comes home late.

He's been driving around town, going too fast, scaring pedestrians.

Hanging around the beach, at that spot he likes, where he can catch the sunset just right.

Maybe not the best idea, he acknowledges. Apparently someone – or something – wants to kill his ass, and it wants to do it here. At the beach.

Weird place for a smack down.

But he's got a week before the shit hits the fan, and he decides he doesn't care. He stays there at the beach, leaning against the fence where the sand meets the grass, staring at the ocean.

He remembers his mom taking him here, when he was in elementary school, on the rare days when she didn't have to work.

He remembers his best friend in junior high, prancing around out there, stomping on his little sister's sandcastle. Yeah, Jimmy Thompson was a real class act.

He remembers Lucy Boyle, the first girl he ever slept with, stretched out in the sand, grinning seductively.

He remembers Kat Stratford jumping up and down, swinging her bag around, racing into the waves with her school uniform on.

But enough with this nostalgia crap. He doesn't really come here to remember. He comes here to forget.

To escape.

He stays until long after the sun has set, and the waves turn an inky black, pounding against the shadowy shore.

Then he turns and leaves. Climbs onto the bike and takes off, headed for home.

His mom is gone by the time he comes in through the front door. Already left for work. There's a note on the fridge.

_Called John. We need to talk._

Goody.

He leaves seconds after he came in, whirling back out through the door, climbing back onto the bike.

He'd like to say that he has no plans, no destination. That he's just going for a drive. Clearing his head.

But that's a lie.

He knows exactly where he's going.

* * *

"Dad! It's a slumber party, not an orgy!"

"Absolutely not!"

"It's just going to be me and the other cheerleaders! We'll eat popcorn, watch movies, do each other's hair… it's not the Lifetime movie nightmare you're making it out to be!"

Kat is listening to her father and Bianca scream at one another as she brushes her teeth in the bathroom. It's mildly amusing. Apparently the sleepover at Dawn's house is the social event of the season. And her father is convinced that cheerleader sleepovers involve blonde football players who scale fences and sneak into houses full of scantily clad females.

He's probably right.

Kat ducks into her bedroom, the sound of Bianca and her father arguing fading as she shuts the door behind her.

She turns. She jumps about a foot in the air, yelping like one of Bianca's cheerleading friends, and stumbles backwards into the door.

Patrick Verona is relaxing on her bed, hands behind his head, acting like he owns the place.

"Hi," he smirks.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kat snaps.

He sits up. "You invited me."

She is livid. "I most certainly did not!"

"Sure you did," he says seriously. He gets off the bed and crosses the room, inching into her personal space. "Remember?"

He adopts a disturbing falsetto that makes Kat cringe. "Oh, Patrick," he mocks her. "I'm just so terrified of that forty year old man in the Halloween costume! Won't you please climb into my window in the middle of the night and hold me?"

He's directly in front of her now, inches from her chest, leaning towards her face. He smirks. He winks.

She grabs his arm and spins him around, pushing him towards the window. "Get out!"

He stops at the window and whirls to face her. Kat glowers. He doesn't look remotely afraid of her.

"Already?" he asks. "You didn't even say hello."

He's leaning towards her again, but Kat's not having any of his crap. She catches him in the chest, one-handed, and bites out, "And I'm not going to! One, we're fighting!"

"Still?"

"And two, if my father catches you here, he will lock me away in a tower somewhere! And I hate fairy tales!"

"Don't sweat it," he smirks. "I've yet to meet the window I can't get to."

She smirks back. "Ha. Ha. Good luck with that. If I wind up in a tower, you better believe it'll be _after_ my father stabs you to death with whatever sharp object happens to be handy."

"Ooh," he returns, still smirking. "Now I'm really scared."

"Get. Out."

"Come on. Your dad's busy screaming at your sister right now. He'll never know I was here."

"You heard that, huh?"

"Yeah. Like two blocks away."

Kat sighs. "Did you come to apologize?"

"Nope."

"Then leave. Now."

She gives him another push towards the window. Patrick sighs harshly. "All right, I'm sorry, ok?"

"Sorry for…?"

"Seriously? You're going to make me do this?"

"You can always leave."

They stare down. For a long time. Both have their arms crossed. They are glowering at one another. Nobody blinks.

Patrick rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry that… that I…"

He's not really sure what to say. She helps him out. "You're sorry that you were rude and insensitive and refused to explain whatever shady situation you've gone and gotten yourself into?"

He shrugs. "Sure. You know, for the first two."

She shakes her head. "Unbelievable. You know, I get the whole mysterious bad boy thing you've got going on. The whole, nobody knows my business and I plan to keep it that way bullshit. If that's how you want it, fine. It's not like I'm pushing at you to tell me every dark, dirty little secret you've got. I just want to know one. And I think I have the right, because apparently it's going to directly affect me. Spill."

He stares at her. Kat wishes she knew what he was thinking.

It's her greatest problem when it comes to Patrick. Never really knowing what's on his mind. He doesn't talk about anything. Sometimes she feels like he's not really a person, he's just this blank little diary she picked up in a bookstore. He absorbs everything she says. Files away all the information she flings at him so he can whip it out and use it against her at a later date.

He knows so much about her. She knows next to nothing about him.

It's infuriating.

He sits on her bed. Kat faces him, arms still folded. She waits.

He glances at her. "Look, um… you know all that stuff people are always saying about my dad?"

She snorts. "Yeah. He's in prison, he's in the mafia, he once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die… what about it?"

He doesn't say anything.

Kat blinks. Takes a step closer. "Are you saying it's true?"

"No," he snaps.

They don't speak for a while.

Patrick sighs harshly. "No one here knows shit about my dad," he announces.

Kat stares. "Ok."

"He's not some criminal. He's not in the mafia, he's not in prison… at least, not as far as I know."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't heard from the guy in three years, all right?"

He sounds really pissed off. For a brief moment, Kat regrets pushing him.

But then she remembers the guy in the parking lot. And her regrets disappear.

"All right," she murmurs. "So… when this guy said he could get you in touch with him…"

"Yeah, right," Patrick snorts. "I don't know who that guy was, but I'm pretty sure he's not interested in helping me or my dad."

"Then why…?"

"My dad… his business takes him all over the place," Patrick says.

It kind of sounds like a lie. Maybe a euphemism. She can tell he's said it a lot over the years. It hurts that he says it to her.

He keeps going. "And, uh… his business makes him a lot of enemies."

They fall silent. For another really long time.

Kat attempts to break the tension. "Are you sure he's not in the mafia?" she jokes.

He doesn't look amused. "I'm sure."

Patrick doesn't elaborate, and Kat decides not to push. She stands quietly, waiting for him to continue.

"This guy?" Patrick says finally. "He's… probably trying to get to my dad. Through me."

Kat swallows.

"So, there you have it," Patrick says. "Satisfied?"

He doesn't sound angry anymore. He sounds tired.

Kat crosses the room. She sits next to him.

She thinks about taking his hand, but that gesture feels wrong. Off, somehow. So she doesn't. She just sits.

Patrick scratches at his messy black hair. Then he reaches under his shirt, pulls out a charm. Unhooks the chain it dangles on from around his neck.

He holds it out to her.

She stares at it.

He shakes it. "Are you going to take this thing or not?"

It's the only gift he's ever given her. It doesn't surprise her that he's doing it wrong.

She decides it's sweet anyway, and doesn't make a scene.

Her hand closes around the necklace. She examines it. The charm is small, metal. Tarnished.

It's a pentagram.

She frowns. "Huh. Didn't peg you for the type to be into all that satanic crap. Of course, Mandella _did_ try to warn me…"

"It's not Satanic," he cuts her off. "It protects against evil. Supposed to be really powerful."

She stares at him.

He doesn't look at her. He rolls his eyes and huffs. "Are you going to wear it or not?"

Kat's not really sure why, but she does. She hooks the clasp at the back of her neck. Lets it hang off her neck, dangling down between her breasts.

"Thanks," she says softly.

He shrugs. "Yeah."

Then he gets up. Heads for the window. Frowning, Kat stands too, following him.

He stops at the window, one leg already outside. "Hey, um… can you… can you not take that off?"

It's a strange question. Kat wants to hit him with a whole bunch of feminist power stuff. Tell him that she's not going to wear his stupid little necklace. That if he's trying to stake his claim on her, he can forget it. That she's a free agent, and she won't be marked like a fire hydrant. This is exactly her problem with wedding bands.

She doesn't. She just nods. "Yeah. Ok."

She sort of gets it. It's not a sexist, 1950s trading of the class ring type thing. It means something else to him.

"You know," he smirks at her. "They say if you line the windows and doors of your house with salt, demons can't enter."

"Really?" she smirks back. "Sounds like a Morton Salt marketing ploy to me."

He laughs. Then he leans in and kisses her.

It's soft. Short. Kind of sweet.

She wouldn't have thought he had it in him.

He pulls back and smirks again. "See you later," he winks.

He climbs the rest of the way through the window. "Good night," she calls after him.

She watches him climb down to the yard below and hightail it towards where he left his motorcycle. Her fingers find the charm and she plays with it.

Wonders exactly what the hell she just got herself into.

* * *

Google Maps records the distance to Padua, California from Bobby Singer's small town in South Dakota as being one day, one hour.

Dean Winchester can make it in half.

He doesn't though. Sam keeps yelling at him to slow down, so he does. They'll still hit Padua well before Google says they will, but it'll take more than thirteen hours.

When they reach Padua, it's three in the morning. They rumble down roads lined with well manicured lawns and huge mansions. The area is well-to-do, that much is obvious.

But when they get nearer to the Verona house, the mansions disappear and the yards return back to nature. When they finally find the place, it's a small, rundown house, all on one level. The yard is the size of a postage stamp.

There's a seriously kick-ass motorcycle parked outside the tiny garage. Dean eyes it with appreciation.

They break in. Just because some random woman in California calls up and claims to be a friend – no, claims to be family – doesn't make her so. In fact, even if she is telling the truth, even if she did meet John Winchester outside the back entrance of a haunted strip club eighteen years ago, that doesn't mean this Patrick kid is John's. She is a stripper, after all.

It's a cruel thought, but Dean doesn't care. He knew his father better than anyone in the world. It hurts to think that there was this whole other life, this whole other family, that Dean's father never told him about.

It's the picture sitting on the end table that nearly does Dean in. They'd entered the tiny house through the back door, having jimmied open the lock, and found themselves in a kitchen barely big enough for a fridge, a stove, and a table. The kitchen is connected to the tiny living room. And on the end table, by the window, is a picture.

The kid is twelve, maybe. He's got a mop of curly black hair. He's standing outside a shooting range.

And John Winchester is standing next to him, with a proud smile on his face.

Dean cusses, and nearly kicks the wall.

Sam too has spotted the picture. He crosses the living room, takes hold of the frame. Lifts it off the table to examine it better.

"That's Dad all right," he whispers.

Dean snorts.

Sam eyes him carefully. "Dude, this is really bothering you, isn't it?"

Before Dean can make a flippant retort, the back door opens. The kitchen light switches on. Both Dean and Sam spin, startled, caught like rats with nowhere to go.

They are so screwed.

The woman in the doorway is about twenty years older than Sam. But she doesn't look bad. Maintains a good deal of that youthful beauty Dean imagines she once had. She's in excellent shape. She's got a pair of double Ds that are miraculously still bouncing. She has long, thick, curly black hair, and dark eyes.

She's hot, and the white cowboy boots, barely-there shorts, and teensy top with tassels over her nipples are only helping matters.

She takes one look at the two men in her living room and screams.

Dean cringes.

"Whoa," his brother says as soothingly as possible, putting the picture down and rushing across the room. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, we aren't going to hurt you!"

Somewhere towards the back of the house a door thuds open. A deep, rumbling voice calls out, "Mom?"

The woman screams again.

"Look, lady," Dean snaps irritably. "Cut it out, already! We're not…"

He doesn't get to explain what he and Sam are _not_ there to do. A loud shot gun blast echoes throughout the house. Dean hits the floor, Sam beside him.

A vase on the rickety table by the front door shatters.

The woman ducks behind her son. Her son is tall, nearly as tall as Sam. He looks much older than seventeen. He has the same wild, curly black hair as the little boy in the picture.

He's holding a shotgun, and he looks pissed.

The gun gets cocked again, and pointed at the two hunters sprawled out on the living room floor.

"Who the hell are you?" the kid – if he can be called that – bellows at Dean and Sam.

Sam gets up on his knees. The kid points the gun at his head. Sam holds his hands up in surrender.

"Isabelle?" he implores the woman cowering behind her son.

She frowns at him, peeking her head out from behind her son's broad shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam lights up like a Christmas tree. "Yes," he nods, grinning stupidly. "Yes, it's Sam."

Dean whistles. "This is Isabelle Verona?" he asks, smirking. "Damn. I was not expecting such a MILF."

Another shotgun blast rocks the house. Dean hits the deck. Sam ducks to the left. A picture on the wall gets it in the glass frame and falls to the floor.

"Patrick!" Isabelle scolds, appalled.

The gun is cocked again and pointed straight at Dean before she can say another word.

"You want to say something else about my mom, asshole?" Patrick growls.

"Honey," Isabelle says soothingly, laying her hand on his arm. Patrick doesn't back down. "Honey, come on. Put the gun down. They're here to help."

She fixes the other two with an accusing look. "Although I certainly wasn't expecting them to be prowling around my living room, in the dark, at three in the morning."

Dean smirks at her, not even trying for sincerity. "Sorry."

Sam rolls his eyes. He gets up off the floor. "This is Patrick?" he asks, trying to make nice.

Dean stands up too. He leans against the side of the sofa and folds his arms across his chest. He narrows his eyes at the Veronas.

Isabelle nods, smiling at Sam. "Yes. Patrick, this is Sam and Dean."

"Hi, Patrick," Sam says.

It's like watching Touched by an Angel. Dean makes a face and rolls his eyes.

"Hi," the kid spits. He looks at his mom. "Am I supposed to know them?"

"Well, if you'd come home after school today, I could have explained all this," Isabelle reprimands him. "I wanted to have this talk in person… preferably before they got here, but…"

She takes a deep breath. "I called John this morning. About the demon guy."

Patrick just stares. Blankly. Like the name John means nothing to him.

Dean eyes the kid irritably.

"Honey…" Isabelle swallows and puts her hand on her son's arm. "Honey, John… John passed away a couple weeks ago."

Dean watches the kid. Waiting for some sort of emotion to cross his face.

The kid shrugs. "And?"

It takes a lot of energy not to punch the kid in the mouth. The only thing stopping him, Dean decides, is the shotgun Patrick refuses to put down.

Isabelle shakes her head at him. She looks disappointed. "Patrick," she scolds softly. "He was your father."

Patrick shrugs again. "What do you want me to do? Cry?"

It's cold enough that Dean's desire to hit the kid increases. It's familiar enough that Dean can almost admit Patrick Verona might be his little brother.

Almost.

Isabelle lets it go. Takes another deep breath.

"When I called John, I got these two instead," she explains. "Sam and Dean…"

And then she stops. She looks like she doesn't really know how to say what's next.

So Sam swoops in. He takes another step towards Patrick and Isabelle. "John Winchester was our father too," he explains.

Isabelle shoots him a grateful look. Patrick just stares at Sam, still looking cold and impassive.

"Yeah, right," he retorts.

Sam blinks. Glances at Dean.

Dean shrugs. Smirks. "Well, you heard the kid. Guess we're not related after all."

Sam glares at him. And then looks back at Patrick. "I can see you're going to take this as well as Dean did," he comments.

"Sweetie," Isabelle says softly. "I know this is hard to take, but… but we have no reason to think that they aren't your brothers."

Patrick tenses at the last word. Dean does too.

Sam takes over.

"Look, you mother says this thing that went after your friend… she told us it had yellow eyes. Is that right?"

Patrick glares at Sam. Dean hates being in this room right now.

This kid is not his brother. His dad did not have this family.

It is killing him to watch this kid glower at Sam. Patrick Verona does not look like John Winchester. He looks like Isabelle Verona. He's got her hair and her eyes and most of her face.

But the longer Dean watches him, the more he's starting to see John Winchester. There's that indent in his chin, the same one Dean has, the same one Sam has.

The silence. The glare. The height. The way he's holding that shotgun.

This is not John Winchester's kid, Dean keeps telling himself. Dean has only one little brother.

Slowly, Patrick inclines his head. Just once.

"We think that demon… we think it might have played a role in our Dad's death," Sam says carefully.

Dean says nothing. Doesn't say what he's been thinking for a while, what he hasn't yet told Sam. That John Winchester bargained with that goddamn yellow-eyed son of a bitch to save _his_ life – _Dean's_ life.

"And we _know_," Sam continues. "That this thing killed our mother."

Patrick tenses up. Dean sees it. He sees the kid move closer to his mother.

And that's enough to make it ok. All the cold looks and the smartass comments – the complete apathy about his dead father – as long as the kid can care about his mother, Dean can treat him like he would anyone else.

But he will _not_ treat him like a brother.

"Our father's been chasing it for a long time," Sam keeps going. "It's been chasing us back. About a year ago the thing killed my girlfriend."

And Patrick gets even tenser. Dean wonders if the girl from the parking lot is really just a friend.

"It's been putting other demons on our trail, trying to get to us… if it's found out about you, then you're in danger. You, your mother… anyone around you."

Sam takes a deep breath. "But we're going to try to keep you guys safe, ok? If this thing is here, in Padua, we're going to find it. And hopefully, we're going to kill it."

"You can't kill demons," the kid returns stonily.

Dean raises an eyebrow. Shoves himself off the couch and approaches the seventeen-year-old. "Well," he murmurs, mildly impressed. "Kid seems to know his stuff. Wasn't expecting that."

The shotgun pokes Dean in the gut. Pushes him back a step. Patrick eyes him coldly. "You want to back up?" he asks.

It's kind of a challenge. One that Dean desperately wants to take. But Sam gives him a look. One of _those_ looks. The look with the big wide puppy eyes and the pouting lower lip.

He hates that look.

Dean smirks at the kid. Holds up his hands in surrender, and takes a step back. "All right then, Mr. Expert," he drawls. "I'm backing up. And you're right. You can't kill demons – at least, not without a special gun."

"A special gun?" Patrick repeats, giving him this completely sarcastic, mocking look of enthrallment. "They make those?"

Dean doesn't retort, because Sam intervenes.

"There's a gun that can kill demons," he explains. "Our dad found it. He had it. We used it a few times. We know it works. But after our dad died, the gun disappeared. We think the demon has it now."

Isabelle Verona looks entirely out of her league here, Dean decides. Her eyes are flicking back and forth between Sam, Dean, and her son. She looks confused, scared, and unsure who to trust, what to believe.

Patrick Verona, however, looks entirely at home. He looks like a hunter. And Dean really hates that idea. It hints at things he doesn't want to think about.

"Ah," Patrick returns, still in that sarcastic, mocking tone. He's quite good at it, actually. "The demon has the special gun. How convenient."

"You don't have to believe us," Dean spits out. "But we all know there is no way you can handle this thing by yourself. Otherwise, your mother wouldn't have called our father."

Patrick eyes him. The glower would frighten someone else, but Dean doesn't scare easy. He doesn't really scare at all.

He bets this kid has every student at his high school running for cover.

"So we're here to help," Dean sums up. "And we're going to do it whether you like it or not, because that yellow-eyed son of a bitch killed our mother. Deal with it."

Patrick glares at him some more. Dean smirks.

"And we're both really grateful," Isabelle cuts in.

Patrick glares at his mother instead.

Isabelle ignores him. She doesn't look afraid of him either.

"We have a spare bed," she goes on. "And one of you can take the couch. You know, if you'd like to stay with us."

She _wants_ them to stay, Dean realizes. She's practically begging Sam with her eyes.

Sam glances at Dean. Dean narrows his eyes at Sam, hard and cold. _Motel_, he messages him telepathically.

Sam smiles at Isabelle. "Sure thing," he says. "We'd like that. Thank you."

Patrick is pissed. He storms off towards his room. Dean hears the door slam from down the hall.

Isabelle winces slightly, still smiling at Sam. "No," she reassures him. "Thank _you_."


	5. The Best Laid Plans

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Thanks to CatPhish, Jules, and Lobke for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 4: The Best Laid Plans

At noon, Sam kicks Dean's foot, startling him awake.

The oldest Winchester sits up, groaning and rubbing his neck, which is probably in knots from sleeping on the Verona's sofa. "What?" he snaps.

"We have a demon to be hunting," Sam returns. "Wake up already."

Dean grunts and rolls off the couch.

Sam heads into the kitchen, where Isabelle is making coffee.

"Patrick should be up soon," she says, eyes on the percolator.

Sam smiles at her. "Great."

Silence descends on the kitchen.

Sam is not Dean. Oh, sure, he acknowledges this whole situation is awkward as hell. He's pretty upset that his father hid a secret little brother from him his whole life. And he's really itching to kick some yellow-eyed demon ass.

But he's not going to take any of this out on the Veronas.

It is not Isabelle Verona's fault, for example, that John Winchester neglected to mention her to his kids, and vice versa.

It is not Patrick Verona's fault that John Winchester knocked up his mother.

And if it is anyone's fault that the demon showed up in Padua to target the Verona family, the blame lies with Sam's father.

Sam, Dean, and Patrick's father.

There is no way that kid is not their little brother. Seriously, watching him face off with Dean last night… it was like watching Dean trying to face off with himself. Sam is convinced, although he suspects nothing short of a paternity test will make Dean a believer.

"Patrick!" Isabelle calls.

Sam glances at the hall. Dean crosses to the kitchen, scratching at his neck. "Mmm. Coffee. Thanks, Izzy."

Sam raises an eyebrow at his brother.

Isabelle looks like the wind's been knocked out of her.

Sam frowns. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Isabelle murmurs. "It's nothing."

Sam looks at Dean. Dean frowns too.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "If the nickname makes you gag…"

"No, no, it's just…"

She pauses for a really long time.

"John used to call me that," Isabelle admits after awhile. "You… you know, you two really remind me of him."

The kitchen is quiet.

A motorcycle starts up outside.

Isabelle glances towards the back door, exasperated. "Patrick!" she calls, storming towards the open window.

Dean is outside in seconds. Sam follows.

The eldest Winchester steps in front of the bike and Patrick powers down, eyeing him with disdain.

"You mind moving?" he asks.

"Not a chance," Dean retorts. "Exactly where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"Really?" Dean sneers. "With a demon on your butt? That sounds… stupid."

"No one asked you."

"Your mother did."

Patrick opens his mouth to retort. Catches sight of his mother standing on the back stoop. Closes his mouth immediately.

Sam steps up beside Dean. "I think what Dean is trying to say," he attempts to smooth over the situation. "Is that it's really not safe for you to be going anywhere right now. You or your mother."

"Thanks for the concern," Patrick bites out, words burning Sam's ears like acid. "But my mom and I have been managing just fine without your help for, oh… my entire life. So it's a little late to swoop in and play overprotective big brother."

"Patrick," Isabelle snaps from the doorstep. "Will you please quit being a jackass?"

Patrick slowly slides his narrowed, dangerous eyes from Sam to his mother.

The glower doesn't throw her in the slightest. "Just come inside," she says. "We can all talk about this. Figure out how we're going to get rid of this demon."

She stumbles over the word demon like a nun trying to cuss. Sam smiles at her in reassurance and turns to his brothers.

Brothers. The word feels nice, all plural like that.

Even if his two brothers are both colossal pains in the ass.

"Why bother?" Patrick asks bitterly. "You really think you can stop that thing? You really plan on sticking around, making sure nothing happens to us? Your dad wouldn't do it. Why should we trust you?"

"You watch how you're talking about my dad," Dean snaps.

Patrick levels Dean with an icy glare that could rival John Winchester's worst look – and Sam has seen plenty of John Winchester's worst looks. Before the situation escalates, Sam swoops in again.

He's only been a middle child for about twenty-four hours, and he's already constantly playing mediator.

"You _can_ trust us," Sam says earnestly. "We are not our father."

Dean glares at him, and Sam tries really hard to ignore the daggers being stared into his skull.

"We _are_ going to help," Sam promises. "Ok? But we can't do that if you don't at least _try _to cooperate."

The look Patrick gives him promises no cooperation at all. Sam holds his ground, staring back at him. Tries for something resembling stern.

He can't do it. Kids were never his forte. Not even high school kids. He doesn't know how to pull the stern authority figure. He is afraid to pull the stern authority figure.

Thank you, Dad, he thinks bitterly. One more way you've managed to fuck me up.

Patrick cocks an eyebrow at him, looking mildly amused. Sam can tell this kid sees right through him.

And that's good, as it turns out. Because suddenly, Patrick is off the bike, holding his hands out in surrender. "All right," he agrees. "Fine. You want to see some cooperation? I'm ready to cooperate."

Every last word rings with mocking but silent laughter, and is delivered alongside a sarcastic smirk. But he goes back inside, and Sam can't help but smile slightly.

This kid is a piece of work. But maybe, just maybe, they can get along.

* * *

What Dean would really like to do is wring Patrick's neck.

The kid is a brat. It's like having another Sam around. Headstrong and determined to have his own way to the point of recklessness.

Patrick is sitting at the kitchen table, looking bored. Dean is leaning against the counter, looking pissed. Isabelle is at the stove, making something that smells like bacon, and she looks uncomfortable.

Sam is at the table too and he looks pleased as punch. For the life of him, Dean can't understand why.

"So," Patrick says, slow and wry. "Exactly what is your genius plan?"

He raises an eyebrow at Dean. It suggests that he is unimpressed.

"Well, we're going to try and accompany you and your mother wherever you go," Sam says. "Make sure nothing comes after you."

Patrick makes a face. "I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Apparently you do," Dean retorts. "Remember the big scary demon on your butt?"

"Yeah. I do. And apparently, it plans to kill me next Thursday. So until then, I don't think I'll need a bodyguard, thanks."

"I doubt it wants to kill you," Sam intervenes. "I'm sure it will, if it can and it thinks it's necessary. But right now, I think threatening you is all about getting to us. To me and Dean."

"Great," Patrick drawls sarcastically. "The big scary demon is trying to use me to get to you two. Well, you sure showed it. Running down here to Padua, crashing at our house, looking for a showdown… I'm sure that wasn't in the demon's master plan. You must have really threw him for a loop."

Dean glares at the kid.

"I know," Sam says slowly. "Showing up here is probably exactly what the demon wanted us to do. We're playing right into the trap. But we can't risk it coming after you and your mother."

"Why do you care?" Patrick snaps.

Sam blinks. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Because we're nothing to you," Patrick points out.

"Patrick," Isabelle scolds softly from the stove, sounding tired.

"That's not true," Sam says.

"Really? Because you don't know us. At all. We are not a part of your lives. So why do you give a shit if some demon kills us?"

"You're family," Sam returns. "Whether we knew it before, or not. You are still family. And that makes it our job to make sure nothing happens to you two."

"Wow. That's really touching. But we don't want to be your obligation, thanks."

"Patrick, stop it," Isabelle hisses. "You don't have to like this situation, but we are in it. And they want to help, so just let them."

"They want to help?" Patrick snaps. "It's entirely their fault that this is happening right now!"

"Patrick, I said stop it!"

"You're right," Sam says.

Patrick blinks at him. He looks surprised. Isabelle turns from the stove, her eyes wide.

"No, he isn't," she attempts to assure him. She sounds like she thinks she is everyone's mother. That Sam and Dean are her sons too.

Dean tries not to snort.

"He is," Sam replies. "This is our fault. If it wasn't for us, if it wasn't for Dad… this thing would have never targeted the two of you. And we're really sorry about that."

Silence descends. Patrick looks irritated, most likely because Sam has agreed with him. Dean is amused. He knows the look the kid has about him. The look that says he's itching for a fight, and he's itching now.

But he stays calm. Dean gives him points for staying calm, even if he still considers the kid an enormous pain in the ass.

"We're going to look for omens," Sam continues. "We'll check the missing persons reports. We'll try to find this thing before Thursday. If we don't…"

He inhales heavily. "Well, Patrick certainly is not going to meet with Yellow Eyes. And when he doesn't show… well, it's safe to say that Yellow Eyes will come after him. Or, more likely than not, he'll send something after him. And that might be our best bet at tracking the son of a bitch."

"You're using my son as bait?"

Isabelle's voice is high and anxious. She is staring at the Winchesters in disbelief, and Dean is positive she's considering chucking her frying pan at Sam's head.

"No," Sam says gently. "Of course not. But… but I don't think we can stop the demon from targeting him. We're going to have to stick around and watch out for the two of you. But don't worry. No one is getting hurt. Not Patrick, and not you Isabelle."

Patrick rolls his eyes. Isabelle looks only slightly mollified. Dean cracks his neck.

"Where's the nearest library?" he asks.

"Patrick can show you," Isabelle suggests.

Patrick glares at his mother.

"It's ok," Sam says. "Actually, it'll be better if one of us goes to the library and one of us stays here with the two of you."

"My mom has to work at eleven," Patrick speaks up.

He's looking at Sam and Dean hard. You fuckers better watch out for my mom, the look says, or I will end you.

Dean likes the kid a little for that. But only a little.

"I'll take her to work," he says. "And I'll stick around until she gets off."

Isabelle looks at him gratefully.

"What about…"

Patrick cuts himself off mid-question.

Sam frowns. "What is it?" he asks gently.

Dean wants to gag.

Patrick looks like he might want to gag too. He rolls his eyes, but asks the question anyway.

"What about Kat?"

"Who the hell is Kat?" Dean returns, annoyed.

Sam gives him a warning look. "I'm guessing the girl from the parking lot."

"Oh, that's just great," Dean snaps. "Now we got to babysit his little girlfriend too?"

"She's _not_… she's just a friend."

Dean is _so_ not convinced. There is no way this Kat girl is just a friend. Patrick looks way too uncomfortable for this girl to just be a friend.

"Do you think this thing will come after her?" Sam asks.

Patrick gives him a nasty look. When he speaks, the words are dripping with sarcasm. "Well, it kind of already did, so… yeah."

"He's got a point," Dean speaks up. He doesn't want to agree with the kid, doesn't want to add the girl to the list of people he's supposed to be protecting, but the kid does have a point.

"All right," Sam concedes. "Just keep in touch with her, all right? Make sure she tells you if something weird happens. We'll keep an eye on her."

Patrick looks less than thrilled about the offer of protection being extended to Kat, and Dean can't really blame him. 'We'll keep an eye on her' is a far cry from 'We'll make sure nothing happens to you.'

Sam doesn't seem to get that. Dean does though. He gives the kid a few more points.

But decides, ultimately, that he can't stand the little brat.

* * *

Kat Stratford wonders exactly what she's supposed to do.

The idea of doing nothing at all has not crossed her mind. Kat Stratford _never_ does nothing. There is always a plan, a course of action, a mission… something that must be done, that she must be the one who does.

So why does she feel so lost at sea?

She sits at the breakfast table, watching Bianca prance around the kitchen, pouring milk in her cereal, not really listening to the banter going back and forth between her and their father.

Patrick never came back. She hasn't seen him all weekend. It is Monday morning, and she is maybe a little bit pissed.

What is she supposed to do? Clearly, he needs help. He is being targeted by some… some… some creepy weirdo, and who the hell knows what might have happened to his father and… and…

She wonders if she should go to the police. She nixes that option. Patrick claims that neither he nor his father are connected to the mafia, but this whole mess stinks of something illegal, and she's not quite ready to throw her sort-of boyfriend into prison.

He's not even a sort-of boyfriend, she thinks ruefully. He's just this dude who kisses her every once in a while and sometimes climbs into her bedroom window and who frequently asks her to hang out, but never to go on a date.

His determination not to label anything they do doesn't bother her half so much as the fear that she is being used.

But now she has new fears. This dude who treats her like his girlfriend but who refuses to call her that is now apparently in some sort of mortal peril. She's supposed to do something about this. At least, she thinks she is.

She sighs under her breath, spinning her spoon in her cornflakes. When the hell did her life become a freaking Twilight novel?

These thoughts are still racing through her mind as she drives to school, Bianca chattering away in the car beside her.

"Ew," the youngest Stratford comments, looking at Kat in disgust. "What are you wearing?"

Kat glares at her out of the corner of her eye. "Really?" she retorts. "Haven't we discussed my wardrobe enough? You hate it, I don't care… is there anywhere else left to go on this subject?"

Bianca rolls her eyes. "Yes, your clothes horrify me, but I was talking about that stupid necklace. I haven't seen it before."

Kat glances down at her chest. Patrick's little pagan amulet glints up at her, slightly less dull in the morning light.

"So what?" Kat asks. "It's just a necklace."

"It looks like some kind of Goth statement. Isn't that a pentagram? Like, for devil worship and stuff? I thought you were an atheist."

"Agnostic," Kat sighs heavily. She's explained this a million times already.

"Same diff. Seriously, what's with the creepy satanic paraphernalia?"

"It's not satanic," Kat retorts. "It's actually quite the opposite. It's meant to protect people from evil. You know, things _like_ Satan. Read a book."

Bianca makes a face. "You are _so_ weird. Who knows things like that?"

They don't speak for the rest of the ride.

When she gets to school, his bike isn't there. She clambers out of the car, and watches Bianca race across the parking lot, heading straight for a smiling Joey Donner.

She sets her mouth in a grim line and marches for the building entrance, now twice as worried as she was before.

But before she can get inside, a car pulls up to the door. It's an old black Chevy Impala that rumbles just the way any other gas guzzler would, while ACDC blasts at full volume through the open windows.

Patrick Verona steps out of the passenger seat and slams the door.

"Hey!" a deep, masculine voice bellows from inside the car – not as deep as Patrick's, but close. "This car is older than you! You treat her with some respect!"

Patrick flips the guy off and stalks towards the building.

Kat moves to intercept him. He freezes as she appears in his peripheral vision, fixing her with the deadly glower he's been wearing since he got out of the Impala.

The Impala rolls away from the curb, still blasting "You Shook Me All Night Long," and tears out of the parking lot, narrowly missing several students.

Patrick does not intimidate her. She ignores the look and walks right up to him. "Hey," she greets him.

The glare fades into something more frown-like. "Hey."

She gestures to where the Impala had been idling. "Who was that?"

He shrugs. "Some dude."

Kat narrows her eyes. "Ok. Does this dude have a name?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He storms off down the hall.

Kat follows.

"What happened to your bike?" she asks.

"I left it at home."

"How come?"

"Does it matter?"

He stops at his locker. Kat stands behind him, staring at his back.

"I guess not," she murmurs. "What happened to you this weekend?"

He looks at her.

"You didn't return any of my texts," she says. "Or my calls. And you never came back."

"I wasn't aware we had plans."

His face is back in his locker again. He grabs a book and then slams the door shut.

She huffs at him. "Well, excuse me for being worried about you!"

Kat glances around her quickly and then takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "I mean, you come over in the middle of the night, you tell me you think an enemy of your father's might be coming after you, and then you just vanish on me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

He spins, agitated. His eye lands on her neck.

Self-consciously, she fingers the necklace.

He smiles. "You're wearing it."

She shrugs. "You asked me to."

And then she sneers. "But if you're going to keep being such a dick…"

Her fingers are under her hair, searching for the clasp.

"Don't," he says, catching her wrist. He smirks, leaning closer. "It looks good on you."

Kat glares at him. "Don't you try and sweet talk your way back into my good graces after giving me all that attitude."

"Kat, come on."

"No, you come on. Where were you this weekend, who was that guy and what the hell is going on?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he snaps.

She stares at him, a little taken aback. He sighs and touches her shoulder.

"Come on," he says. "I'll walk you to class."

"Don't bother," she retorts. "I can find my own way."

He stares at her, and then rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

He turns to walk away. Kat unhooks the clasp on her necklace and tosses it at his head. He freezes when it bounces off his skull.

"You can take your stupid trinket back," she barks after him.

He turns around slowly. She's already storming off down the hall.

Patrick Verona is a bastard.

He can solve his own damn problems from now on.


	6. Mr Sympathetic and Understanding

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Thanks to CatPhish, Lobke, Taylen-Swordbreaker, Jules, Me, reluctant-reporter, and Mia for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 5: Mr. Sympathetic and Understanding

Kat sits down across from Mandella at lunch. Her closest friend tenses immediately and looks all around her.

"Chill," Kat sighs. "Baby just got sent to the principal's office for punching some girl in the face."

Mandella blinks. "Baby punched a girl?"

"Yeah. Theories are boundless as to why. The point is that she's in Holland's office, and we are free to have five minutes of friend time until she returns and flies into an unreasonable jealous rage."

Mandella purses her lips. "Kat…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You really like her. I'll keep my opinions to myself."

Mandella seems unable to contain her smirk. "Well, this ought to be fun to watch."

Kat smirks back, not nearly as amused. "Ha."

"What's up?"

Kat sighs.

"Let me guess. Cannibal induced teen angst?"

"More or less."

"What did he do this time?"

"More like what he didn't do," Kat returns, and then automatically winces. "Oh geez, that was such a Bianca thing to say."

Mandella laughs.

They talk about Mandella's problems with Baby first. Kat figures she owes the girl that much. Then she asks the question she's been dying to ask since she first spotted Mandella alone in the lunchroom.

"Mandella… I know there are all kinds of crazy rumors about Patrick flying around, but… but are there any rumors at all that might actually be true?"

Mandella widens her eyes. "They're all true."

"Ha, ha," Kat rolls her eyes. "No, seriously. What can you tell me about him? I'm at a disadvantage here. New girl, remember?"

Mandella snorts and takes a bite of her sandwich. "Actually, I think you're probably the only one in this school with any sort of advantage when it comes to the mysterious inner workings of Patrick Verona."

Kat makes a face. "Really?"

"Well, think about it. Why do you think there are so many rumors flying around about him? It's because nobody knows anything about him. They have no conflicting evidence."

"Hmm… solid point."

"Look, Patrick Verona has always been a loner. He has almost no friends, and even the friends he has know nothing about him. Plus, he's got the bitching bike and the intense glower, so… outlandish rumors about him being a serial killer were bound to spring up."

Kat eyes her friend, frowning. "You sound like maybe you don't buy into those rumors anymore. Which is funny, because I seem to remember you being hell bent on poking through his stuff, looking for a murder weapon."

Mandella shrugs. "Well, you two started hanging out, and then there was the walk-out, and… well, I started to see a different side of him. I still think it's totally possible that his mother is a Mexican drug lord, though."

Kat rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm starting to think it's totally possible that his father is in the mafia."

Mandella widens her eyes, looking hungry for a juicy piece of gossip. "Why? What happened? What did he tell you?"

Kat realizes her mistake and backtracks. "Nothing. I was just… I was just kidding."

Mandella eyes her suspiciously. But before she can call Kat on her backpedaling, she catches sight of something over Kat's shoulder and her eyes go wide in panic. "Uh-oh. Baby's back from the principal's."

Kat instantly leaps to her feet and grabs her books. "All right, I'm going. No worries."

She glances at Baby as she moves around the corner of Mandella's table and breathes a sigh of relief when it appears that Mandella's jealous girlfriend has yet to catch sight of her. Kat takes the opportunity to say a parting word.

"Thanks for the chat, Mandella. I…."

Kat trails off, glances at Baby again, and then makes eye contact with the only real friend she has at Padua High. "I really miss you."

Mandella offers her a sad smile. "Yeah," she agrees softly. "I miss you too."

Then Kat books it, heading for the library, and Baby crosses the lunchroom to sit with Mandella.

It's back to being any other day at Padua. Kat is left feeling completely alone.

* * *

"So what's the deal with this Maurice Hopkins guy?"

Sam leans against the exterior wall of the police station, cell phone stuck to his ear, and sighs at his older brother's question.

"Only missing person in the past few weeks around the area. Vanished the same night as a freak electric storm in the next county over."

"So, what? Yellow Eyes is possessing him?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What, you think it's another demon?"

"I just… I have a hard time believing the thing's planning on sticking around."

"Why wouldn't the son of a bitch hang in there until Thursday? It's got what it wants – us, sitting around on our asses, waiting for him."

"Yeah. Well, that's kind of why I think he's not sticking around."

"Jesus. Demons, man."

"Yeah."

"What do we do? Wait it out till Thursday, hope the world doesn't end?"

"No. No, there's got to be something we can do."

"Well? Any genius ideas?"

Sam sighs again. "I'm working on it."

"Well, I ran EMF on the club Izzy works in. Dribbled holy water in all the liquor… in everything I could get near. Couldn't find a damn thing."

"Nothing? No sulfur…"

"I went all over that place sniffing for sulfur. All I got was sweaty old guy smell."

"TMI."

"You asked."

"Look, I got to pick up Patrick from school."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll talk when you get back."

"Sounds like a plan."

Sam hangs up the phone.

Searching for demons in Padua is like searching for needles in multiple haystacks.

Which seems ridiculous. Because Padua is pretty white bread. There's the poor section of town where the Veronas live, but other than those few shabby streets, the place looks like Stepford.

Although, he supposes it would be hard to figure out who was a demon in Stepford. Stepford was one scary place.

Sam sighs for a third time, pocketing his phone, and heads for the Impala.

He's worried. Scared. Suspects that not one demon will surface in the next few days. Not until Thursday. Everything will be normal, normal, normal… and then, bam! Suddenly, Padua will be crawling with demons.

And each and every one of them will be out for Winchester blood.

And it just so happens that Sam and Dean are not the only Winchesters in town.

They'll be targeted, undoubtedly.

But so will Patrick Verona.

Sam just got this little brother. He's not ready to lose him already. Not before they even become real brothers.

No one is dying here. Not if Sam can help it.

Not again.

* * *

Kat's been avoiding him all day. Her trips to her locker were well-strategized, her descents through the hallway straight out of Mission Impossible. He didn't even see her at lunch. Patrick hasn't had one single opportunity to talk to her.

Which is good, in a way. Because it's taken him all day to figure out what to say.

He sits on the hood of the old Volvo, elbows propped on his knees, turning the pentagram over in his hands.

She doesn't show up for a long time. He thinks she might be waiting for Bianca to get out of cheerleading practice, or maybe she sees him sitting on the hood of her car and is waiting for him to give up and leave.

She won't get so lucky.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot, but Patrick can tell right away that Dean isn't the one driving. The windows are rolled up, there's no loud music splitting the eardrums of passers-by, and the car's rolling along at the speed limit.

The Impala coasts into the empty space beside the Volvo. The engine shuts down. Sam gets out of the driver's seat and leans on the roof of the old car. "Hey," he says, a little too brightly, forcing a smile. "You ready?"

Patrick doesn't look at him. "Can you wait a minute? I got to talk to somebody."

Sam's too bright and awkward smile doesn't fade. "Sure thing," he says, nodding with a touch too much gusto.

There's a long silence. Patrick waits for Sam to get back in the car, but he doesn't. He just stands there, leaning on the roof, glancing around the parking lot.

"We waiting for Kat?" he asks finally.

Patrick glares at the pavement in front of him, annoyed. "Yeah."

More silence.

"You guys have a fight or something?" Sam asks. "You look kind of, uh…"

Patrick glares at him instead of the asphalt. Sam immediately stops talking. He clears his throat. "Don't want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Ok. Gotcha."

The silence descends again.

"So what's she like? Kat?"

Patrick groans, rubbing his forehead. "Can we just _not_ talk?"

"Um… right. Sorry."

They lapse back into that uncomfortable silence. Patrick sighs heavily, taking pity on Sam. The guy looks incredibly uncomfortable, and he won't stop glancing around the lot. He's also doing some sort of weird head bobbing thing, like he's keeping time to music only he can hear. It's creepy, and Patrick wants him to stop.

"She's a pain in the ass," he says finally.

Sam laughs, surprised. "Well, then the two of you must get along perfectly."

Patrick shoots him a sideways glance and sees the older man grinning at him. He rolls his eyes, not really up to the witty banter thing – at least, not with Sam. "Try not at all."

Sam laughs again.

Then Patrick sees Kat storming up to her car. She looks murderous, which means nothing short of a smirk will do on his part.

Patrick sees Sam shift uncomfortably by the Impala, raising an eyebrow at the approaching girl. Kat stops directly in front of her bumper and levels Patrick with one of her terrifying glowers.

He smirks, as planned. "Hi."

"Get. Off. My. Car!"

Patrick drops the smirk, and sighs. "Kat, come on. I want to talk."

She doesn't lose the glare, and she taps her foot impatiently. "So? Talk."

He gets up off the Volvo, backs her away from Sam. He doesn't want his supposed older brother to overhear. It's none of his business.

"Look, I'm sorry about this weekend? All right?"

"Who's that guy?" she snaps, looking over his shoulder. "That's not the same guy from this morning."

Patrick sighs heavily. "Look, I had to call my Dad, ok? About the guy, in the parking lot?"

"There's no way that is…"

"Just stop talking!" he snaps. "I'm trying to tell you something!"

She shuts up. Amazingly. But the glare she's giving him indicates that he is nowhere near being forgiven.

"My Dad didn't pick up. He…"

Patrick scratches his neck. He sighs. He really doesn't want to have this stupid heart to heart.

She's going to make him. The glare deepens. "What?" she demands.

"Look, my dad's dead."

Kat's jaw drops. The look of complete shock on her face almost makes the inquisition worth it.

"Patrick…"

His name escapes her lips in this breathy whisper. It's full of concern. It scares him.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she asks.

He shrugs.

She doesn't even get frustrated with him, which makes him more uncomfortable. Of course, she doesn't look particularly comfortable either when she reaches out and brushes her fingers against his wrist.

Neither of them are any good at this.

"Patrick," she says again. "I'm… I'm sorry. I…"

"Don't," he interrupts. "I barely knew the guy."

"Ok. But… he was still…"

"It's not important. Look, my dad can't help us, ok? But… but, uh… look, I got some news."

He really doesn't want to tell her this. Mostly because he doesn't know how to tell her this. She stares at him expectantly with big brown eyes.

"My dad… he had… I wasn't his only kid."

She waits. Looks like she wants to talk, but doesn't. He's impressed.

"Turns out I have two brothers. Older brothers. And, uh… they're kind of in the family business? So… so they're going to try to get rid of this guy, ok? They just got into town this weekend."

She blinks. Shakes her head. "Wait… you just found out you have two brothers?"

"That's what I said."

"Well, are you sure? What if they're… what if they're…?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"What?" he asks, amused. "You think they're hit men, impersonating long lost family members?"

She smacks him in the arm, looking flustered. "Shut up. Of course not. I mean… well, when you say it like that…"

"My dad wasn't a big talker."

She stares.

"So, uh… secret older brothers? Yeah, it doesn't really surprise me."

She stares more. Then she nods. And then, just when Patrick begins to think he's made some progress, she frowns.

"Family business?" she asks. "What's the family business?"

Aw, crap.

Patrick smirks. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, ha-ha. Seriously, what's the deal? Are you mafia? Modern day pirates? Run a human-taxidermy business for fellow serial killers?"

"Actually, we're Columbian coke dealers," he says. "But don't tell anyone, kay?"

Kat rolls her eyes again. "Patrick, seriously…"

"Look, you want to meet my brother?"

He's not sure why he does it. He has no desire to introduce Kat to his brother. He doesn't want them to meet at all. But he also wants to distract her from all the questions he can tell she's going to ask. He needs to get her off of 'the family business.'

Because the family business is demon-hunting. And she isn't going to buy that one.

She blinks. The dictionary should have a picture of her expression next to the word astonished.

"Ok."

He leads her over to the Impala. Sam looks up in interest. He smiles, again too brightly.

"This is Sam," Patrick says. "My… brother."

He really hates that he said that. Sam lights up like a cow meeting an electric fence.

"Hi," Sam says, shaking Kat's hand.

"Sam, this is Kat."

Kat smiles back at Sam. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Sam nods enthusiastically.

Awkward silence descends.

"So," Kat says. "When do I get to meet the other one?"

Patrick's response is automatic. "Never."

Kat cocks an eyebrow.

Sam laughs. "Yeah, Dean… Dean's not exactly… housebroken yet."

Patrick stifles a chuckle.

Kat smiles. "Thanks for the warning. Although I kind of picked up on that when he dropped Patrick off at school this morning."

Sam winces. "Let me guess. Loud music, reckless driving…"

"Near vehicular homicide of three students from the marching band?"

"Yeah," Sam nods ruefully. "Sounds like Dean."

They're getting along. Kat seems to like Sam. Sam seems to like Kat… although Sam seems willing to like anybody. It's pretty annoying, actually.

Patrick wishes they weren't getting along so well. He hates that they like each other.

"Well, I'm glad we met," Kat says.

Sam nods. Then he frowns, and asks a question.

"You were the one that met the guy in the parking lot, right?"

Patrick tenses.

Kat nods, also looking tense. "Yep. That was me."

"You told Patrick he… he had yellow eyes?"

"Yellow _contacts_," Kat corrects him. "I looked it up online, and it turns out that yellow is not an eye color that occurs in nature… you know, unless you're a cat."

She sounds like her usual sarcastic self. Patrick glances at Sam and notes that the older man is taking the sarcasm in stride, as though it doesn't bother him at all.

"Right, that's what I meant," Sam lies easily. Patrick watches him, unsure where this is going. "He said he wanted to reconnect Patrick with his father? Indirectly threatened him?"

"Yeah, that's right." Kat looks suspicious. "If you've already heard the story from Patrick, I don't understand why you need to ask me about it."

"Just for clarification's sake," Sam smiles reassuringly. "Did he threaten you?"

"Me?" Kat snorts. "No, but I threatened him. With a tazer."

She smirks proudly.

Sam gives her this half smile, half frown, as though he's not sure he heard her right. "You threatened him with a tazer?"

"Yep. Any more questions?"

"Um… none that I can think of…"

"Well, good," she says, and Patrick winces, recognizing the tone of her voice, the look on her face. Kat is about to pounce.

"Now I have some questions for you," she announces.

Sam looks taken aback, but forces a smile. "All right then. Shoot."

"Exactly who the hell was that guy, why does he want to hurt Patrick, why did he talk to _me_ in the parking lot instead of Patrick, what the hell is the family business, and what are you planning to do about all this?"

Sam blinks. Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Uh…"

Patrick watches Sam's mouth open and close like a dying fish. It'd be funnier if it wasn't Patrick's neck on the line every bit as much as Sam's.

"Look, no one is getting hurt," Sam finally says.

Kat raises an eyebrow. Sam rushes to continue. "Dean and I are going to do everything we can to keep this guy away from Patrick and his mother, away from you and your family… but that's all we can really tell you for now."

Patrick hides a sigh of relief. Kat is not appeased.

"I'll wait for you in the car," Sam tells Patrick, and slides in behind the wheel.

The moment the door closes Kat rounds on Patrick. "I don't like being kept in the dark," she informs him.

"Yeah," Patrick says. "I know. You say it a lot."

She glares.

"Look," Patrick sighs. "You aren't going to believe me."

"What makes you so sure…?"

"No one ever has. That's what makes me so sure. Can you just trust me? I'll… I'll explain everything soon."

There's a really long silence. Then Kat nods.

"Ok."

The word is small. She looks like she wants to say more, but doesn't. Patrick sighs again.

He hands her back the necklace.

It's just a necklace. It's just a charm. He's not sure what good it really does. He knows he feels better thinking she's wearing it.

She takes it. Stares at it. Weighs it in her hand. "Why is this thing so important to you?" she asks quietly.

He shrugs. "Just is."

She nods. "Ok."

She puts the necklace back on. Patrick glances around the parking lot for observers, and then kisses her quickly.

Kat raises an eyebrow. He heads for the Impala.

"Patrick."

He turns.

She points a warning finger at him, and he is vividly reminded of her father. "I expect answers! Soon!"

Patrick nods. "Ok."

Then he gets in the car. Sam starts up the engine, and they drive away.

"She seems…"

Sam trails off. Patrick smirks.

"Like a pain in the ass?" he offers.

Sam smiles.

"She's… impressive."

Long silence.

"I like her," Sam says.

"Really? Do you?" Patrick asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. He puts his hand over his heart. "I'm so glad to hear that. Your opinion matters so much to me."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"I know it's hard," he says. "Not telling her the truth."

He turns big, sympathetic, understanding eyes on Patrick. "I mean, I know I never managed to do it. Not with my girlfriend."

Patrick senses there's about to be an over-share, and moves quickly to cut Sam off. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Really? Because it seemed back there like…"

"She's _not_ my girlfriend."

Long silence.

"All right," Sam says finally. "She's not your girlfriend."

The Impala is silent the rest of the way back to the house.


	7. Dean Meets Douchebag McSweater

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Thanks to Cate, vamp-out, Jules, Mia, Lobke, and Nicolio-XD for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 6: Dean Meets Douchebag McSweater

"So? What have you got for me, Bobby?"

The older man sounds harassed and annoyed. "Nada."

Dean grimaces. "Are you kidding me?"

"Well, I don't know what you want me to do, boy! I can't just yank demonic omens out of my ass!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Dean sighs, slumping on the Veronas' couch, clutching the cell phone to his ear. It's Tuesday. Sam has just taken Patrick to school, and Dean is hanging around the house, watching out for Izzy.

They are no closer to stopping this thing than they were Monday. Dean is frustrated, annoyed, and worried… not to mention coming down with the cabin fever.

He hates sitting on his ass in this house. The Veronas don't even have cable. They've got like ten stations, and a third of them are nothing but fuzz. The only upside is that Izzy cooks… and her food is one hundred times better than his usual mini-mart chow.

"So you've got nothing? Nothing at all?"

Bobby sighs into the phone. "Sorry. I'm trying, son, but I'm not getting anywhere fast. You sure there's nothing in that strip joint you were telling me about?"

"I'm sure."

"You try the high school?"

"Uh…"

No, actually. Dean has not tried the high school. He's been to the school once, and he was only there a few moments, dropping Patrick off at the front entrance. He'd gotten a slammed door and a middle finger salute for his trouble.

"Well, damn it, boy, what are you? An idjit? The school ought to have been the first place you looked! After all, that's where the thing cornered your brother's girlfriend!"

"Don't call him that," Dean snaps.

Bobby sighs again, and Dean instantly attempts to make a joke.

"And don't call Kat his girlfriend," he says, forcing light into his voice. "Apparently, she's _just_ a friend. The kid's real sensitive about it."

"Look, John had more than his share of secrets. I know the last thing you need when your father's barely cold in the dirt is a long lost brother knocking down your door, but…"

"Don't, Bobby," Dean cuts him off, voice tight. "I'm not talking about this."

Silence.

"Well, you better check out the school," Bobby says finally. "I'm starting to think that's your best bet."

"All right. Will do. Thanks, Bobby. You'll keep looking, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Dean feels a rush of gratitude as he hangs up the phone.

The back door swings open, and in walks Sam. "Hey."

Dean nods at his brother. "Hey. Want to take guard duty on the MILF? I just got off the phone with Bobby, and he suggested we check out the high school."

Sam frowns, skeptical. "Patrick spends all day in that place. I mean, I know he's not… _us_… but the way Izzy talks, Dad trained him up pretty good. The kid's been staying sharp. I'd think he would have noticed something if there was something to notice."

Dean shrugs. "You might be right. But it's better than nothing."

Sam sighs and tosses Dean the keys. "Steer clear of Patrick."

"I'm not scared of him."

"That's hardly what I meant. It's just… well, do you remember high school? The last thing he probably wants is his older brother poking around his school, embarrassing him in front of his friends…"

Dean glares at Sam the moment the word brother falls from his lips. When Sam notices, he sighs and stops talking.

"Dean," he says, sounding tired. "Come on. He's our brother, like it or not. Just accept it, ok? I mean, this doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"Sure it does," Dean snaps. "Dad dies and a long lost little brother comes out of the woodwork?"

"Dean…"

"I'm not saying we can't trust these people," Dean says. "But maybe we can't trust these people."

"Wow. Paranoid much?"

"And even if we can trust these people," Dean pushes on. "Exactly what's so great about us reuniting with this secret brother of ours? Sam, Dad must have kept him hidden for a reason."

"Yeah. Dad kept him hidden because Dad was an ass."

Dean glares. Sam shrugs.

"Well, he was. He never told us about him, he never told him about us… Dean, Dad practically painted a target on this kid's back! Stopping by a few times a year, enlightening him on the family business… and then keeping him a secret from us? Bailing on him and his mother? Running out on a suicide mission without making sure there'd be someone left behind to watch out for his youngest son? Of course the demon targeted Patrick! Dad couldn't have created a more ideal target if he tried!"

"He was trying to keep the kid safe!" Dean bellows. "We didn't know about him, because Patrick wasn't supposed to have this life! That's what Dad did, Sam! He tried to give Patrick what he couldn't give us!"

The house hums with the silence that follows Dean's outburst.

Sam shakes his head. "Well, obviously Dad's little plan didn't work, did it? The demon found out about Patrick, and if Isabelle hadn't had the sense to call us, the demon might have killed Patrick, and his mother. And that would have been on Dad's head, Dean."

Dean glares, but he doesn't argue. Doesn't want to admit that maybe Sam is right. Just fingers the car keys in his hand and stares at the carpet.

"I'm going to check out the school," he says finally.

Sam stares. "Ok."

Dean walks out the door. He slams it behind him.

He tears out of the driveway too fast and then floors it down the road.

He grips the wheel too tight and, not for the first time, eyes the passing trees, thinking how easy it could all be… how with just one twist of the wheel, it could be over.

He shakes his head clear, and focuses on the task ahead.

Watch out for Sammy. That has always been priority number one. Watching out for his little brother.

And if Dean has two little brothers, then that makes the newest addition to the family a top priority too.

Dean has to keep this kid safe. He has to.

But he doesn't have to like it.

* * *

Kat rifles through her locker, searching for her history assignment. She didn't see Patrick before school that day, and she believes he's avoiding her. She believes his promise to enlighten her about the family business was a lie, and she believes he's purposely staying out her way so he won't have to answer any more questions.

She also believes he's a dumbass, and she's pissed about it.

"You're welcome."

The voice in her ear is tinged with a British accent, and has a cocky air that reminds her all too much of certain leather-clad biker boy who has far too many secrets.

"Thanks," she retorts. "For transferring out of this school?"

William Blankenship, aka Blank, aka Giant Backstabbing Douche, simply leans against the locker beside hers and grins, waving a pair of tickets in her face. "I have two tickets I can't use for the Andero Courso's art open on Thursday night. 'Man Cow Fire?' It was denied federal funding for…"

"For being too controversial," Kat finishes for him, excitement kicking in despite her feelings of utter hate and revenge for the tall, lanky blonde boy beside her.

"I'm dying to see it," she admits. Then she eyes Blank for a brief moment and adds, "Wait. I don't like you."

Slamming her locker shut, she heads off down the hall. He follows.

"You can't still be upset about Meatless Mondays," he says. "That was two weeks ago!"

She ignores him.

"What if I beg reluctantly yet sincerely for your forgiveness?"

"Hmm, sorry," she retorts. "But I'm not charmed by the Masterpiece Theatre act. Jack the Ripper had a British accent too."

"You honestly think I'm that awful?"

"I think you should be deported. In fact, if I didn't have such strong reservations about the INS, I would report you."

"Alright-y then. Pleasure as… well, never."

And as much as Kat hates to admit it, she wants to go to this art show, and her opportunity is slipping through her fingers.

"Fine," she says, snatching the tickets from his hand. "I'll take them off your hands. Thanks."

Then she looks him in the eye, cold. "You can go."

But he doesn't. He just smirks. And then a deep rumbling voice that Kat recognizes but can't quite place sounds in her ear.

"Wow," the voice says sarcastically. "Now that is one classy sweater. Where'd you get it? I 'm thinking of picking one up myself – maybe something in a nice, deep red?"

Blank blinks, surprised. Kat whirls and finds a tall, broad shouldered man in a brown leather jacket standing behind her. His brown hair is cropped close to his head, and he's got a killer smirk and a pair of seriously gorgeous green eyes. He is definitely not the kind of guy who wears sweaters like Blank's.

When she sees Patrick standing behind this rebel-without-a-cause, looking torn between amusement and annoyance, she knows exactly who this man must be.

This is Dean. The other brother.

* * *

When Patrick sees Dean outside of his English class, he nearly explodes on the spot.

The oldest of the Winchesters is picking his way through the high school hallway, shoving kids aside without so much as an apology, inspecting window casings and doorways.

He's got a busted up walkman in his hand, but Patrick recognizes immediately that it's a homemade EMF reader. For a brief moment he is slightly impressed… until he remembers that this is the brother he can't stand.

He storms up to Dean and taps him on the shoulder – harder than necessary.

Dean turns around. When he sees Patrick standing beside him, he delivers one of his annoying smirks.

"Hey kid," he says. "Have fun in school today?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Patrick demands.

Dean shrugs. "What does it look like I'm doing? Demon hunting."

Patrick cringes, glancing around them. "Dude, could you say that louder please? I don't think they heard you all the way out in the auto shop."

Dean smirks again. "What's the matter? Ashamed of your heritage?"

"I've got enough rumors flying around about me as it is," Patrick snaps. "I don't need to add demon-hunter to the list."

"Aw, come on. That's one sexy rumor. Think of all the chicks you could hook up with."

"I don't need any help with that, thanks."

"Oh, right. You've got that girl… what's her name? Kat?"

"Would you shut up? And get out of my high school?"

"No can do, Brando. I've already found traces of sulfur in this joint. Now I've got to find me a demon."

Patrick snorts. "Did you happen to find these traces of sulfur outside the chemistry lab? Because, uh… you know. They use sulfur in chemistry."

"Ha-ha," Dean retorts. "Just so happens it was nowhere near the chemistry lab, wiseass. Now tell me, who in this school strikes you as a demon in disguise?"

Patrick stares at him incredulously. "Dude, are you kidding? The question is, who in this school doesn't?"

He turns away from Dean then, getting irritated and ready to bail. He's got lunch now, anyway, and he's hungry.

The he sees Kat walking down the hall… with Blank.

The Douche.

He clenches his fists.

What the hell?

"Dude," Dean comments. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing," Patrick bites out.

"Bull. You look like some kid stole your candy… oh, I see."

Patrick glares at Dean. Dean's eyes have landed on Kat and Blank.

"Let me guess," the older guy says dryly. "The brunette in the badass boots is Kat."

"It's none of your business."

"Damn," Dean says, eyeing Kat like she's a steak and he's just finished up a three month hunger strike. "Can you say jailbait?"

"Shut up."

"Woo-hoo-hoo. Look who's sticking up for his girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend, asshole."

"Oh, ok then. Is that why you're ready to pound the Cardigan Boy's face in over there?"

Patrick glares at Blank and says nothing.

Dean's quiet a moment, his eyes flicking from Patrick to Blank.

"Hey, kid, don't worry about it," he says. "That guy's a serious douche."

Patrick blinks. He looks at Dean. He stares.

He's in shock.

Dean smirks. "You going to introduce me to your sexy non-girlfriend?"

"Definitely not."

"Geez," Dean says, shaking his head. "That's rude. Guess I'll just have to introduce myself then."

And before Patrick can stop him, Dean's shoved his EMF meter into his jacket and is walking towards Kat.

"Damn it," Patrick mutters.

He follows Dean.

His older brother walks right up to the pair, stops directly behind Kat, and announces in his cocky, smartass way, "Wow. Now that is one classy sweater. Where'd you get it? I 'm thinking of picking one up myself – maybe something in a nice, deep red?"

Kat whirls. She stares at Patrick and Dean in shock. Her eyes rove over Dean, taking all of him in – possibly even checking him out. Patrick isn't even jealous. He finds it amusing.

Dean winks at Kat. She immediately looks affronted. Blank looks surprised and confused.

Patrick can't help himself. "Nah," he says to Dean. "You should go with a dark green. It'll like totally bring out your eyes."

Dean smirks at him. Patrick smirks back. And for a second, they don't totally hate one another.

It's weird.

"Hi," Dean grins at Kat, extending his hand for shaking. He leans against the locker, cocking his eyebrow suggestively. "I'm Dean. And you are far too good looking for my little brother."

The united front they'd shared only a moment earlier crumbles. Patrick glares at Dean's head, willing him to burst into flames.

Kat doesn't shake Dean's hand. She smirks at him, her pretty brown eyes lighting up with that fire Patrick loves about her.

"I'm Kat," she introduces herself. "And you are far too old to be in this school without a visitor's pass. I should alert security."

"Ooh," Dean returns, still smirking. "The Kat's got claws."

"Oh, ha, ha," she replies dryly, rolling her eyes and smirking again. "Like I haven't heard every single cat-related pun in existence since I was four. That's really original."

Dean's still smirking. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Well," Blank says, sounding ironic. "I have to be going. Enjoy your art show."

He walks off down the hall. Patrick glares after him.

"Art show?" Dean asks. "Sounds classy. Like your pal's sweater."

He somehow makes classy sound like an insult. Patrick's on the verge of another smirk, but reels it in, sensing Kat won't approve.

"In that case I won't be inviting you," she sneers. "I'd hate to disrupt the 'classy' atmosphere."

"Ouch."

She turns to Patrick. There's less fire in her eyes now and more excitement. "Blank just gave me tickets to this modern art show on Thursday. You want to come?"

Thursday. Has she forgotten? He frowns.

And then it hits her. He watches the excitement vanish and her shoulders fall.

"Oh," she whispers. "Right. Thursday."

"What's happening on Thursday?" Dean asks.

Both Kat and Patrick look at him like he's an idiot.

"Oh, that?" Dean asks, scoffing. "What, the little showdown at the beach? Patrick's not going to that. He's totally free."

Patrick glares at him.

Kat looks a little less crestfallen. "Oh… well… do you want to go then? I'll understand if you don't… I mean, the whole beach thing… maybe it would be a bad idea."

For a moment, Patrick considers consenting. He actually considers attending a modern art show with Kat.

And then he remembers he hates modern art. In fact, he hates most art. Well, maybe hate is a strong word. He just… really doesn't care about it.

He'll be bored. He'll have to dress up. And… well… he's not a classy British dude in a prep school sweater. He's never played golf in his life, and he's never eaten expensive cheese.

Simply put, Patrick Verona does not do art shows.

"Let me see," he murmurs, giving her a smirk – doing his best to come off as joking so she won't get too offended. "Spend a night staring at globs of paint, pretending they don't look like bird crap?"

She lights up again. "But this is different! Some of his paintings actually are made with bird droppings! He believes in using everyday materials…"

Patrick's giving her an enthralled look. A completely exaggerated enthralled look that is clearly meant to mock her. She trails off and sighs.

"Never mind," she says. "I'll meet you at lunch, ok?"

He nods. She heads off towards the quad.

"Dude," Dean says. "You're an idiot."

Patrick glares at him. "Excuse me?"

"You should have gone to that lame ass art show."

"Why?"

"Because she wanted you to! Are you _trying_ to chase her into the arms of Douchebag McSweater?"

Patrick rolls his eyes. "You know, last I checked, you were here to kill demons, not give me advice about women. So… shut up."

Dean snorts. "Whatever, kid. You're going to regret this."

"Are you leaving? Finally?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Watch your back, though. Demons have been wandering around this place."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. High school is Hell."

Dean blinks, surprised. Then he grins, chuckling a bit. "Good one, kid."

He turns, and heads for the exits.

Patrick watches him go, and then heads for the quad.

He wonders if Dean is right.

Maybe he should have agreed to take Kat to the damn art show.


	8. Agent Morrison

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: Big thank yous to Jules, Talyen-Swordbreaker, Nicolio-XD and khajit for the reviews! And don't worry, khajit… I _love_ long reviews. No complaints here :)

Sorry for the wait. Exams, graduation, writer's block… the dreaded triple threat. Still busy, but hopefully the updates will come faster. Thanks everyone!

* * *

Chapter 7: Agent Morrison

Dean swaggers and smirks in his usual cocky manner, flashing his fake badge at the super tall, gangly AV geek standing in front of him.

"I hate to keep you from your classes," he says in his practiced G-man voice. "But you understand how important the war on drugs is. Teenage drug use is on the rise, and Padua High is fast becoming a hotbed for criminal activity."

"Oh, I understand," the kid says earnestly, nodding his head up and down. He is overly enthusiastic, and it makes Dean cringe. If he remembers correctly, the AV geek introduced himself as Cameron… and Dean is actually starting to feel sorry for Cameron. The only thing keeping this kid from getting stuffed into a locker on a daily basis is the fact that he's far too tall to fit inside these lockers… seriously, the kid is taller than Sam. And Sam is a freak of nature.

"Believe me sir," Cameron gushes on. "I want to do my part to keep drugs out of the hands of kids. I'm above the influence myself."

Dean smirks at the kid. "I'll bet you are."

The indirect insult flies right over AV boy's head. The kid unlocks the AV closet and holds the door wide open for Dean. "Our security tapes are your security tapes, Agent Morrison."

Dean nods, still smirking, and steps inside the closet.

* * *

"Bianca! Bianca!"

Bianca Stratford turns at the sound of her name, feeling slightly hopeful. Ever since the fiasco with her and Joey and Cameron, things have been tense between her and her best friend.

But after she'd tried to fix Cameron up with Stacy, relations had improved between them. And if he's chasing her down the hallway, screaming her name, then maybe – just maybe – their friendship is getting back to normal.

She grins at the tall, excited teenage boy hustling in her direction.

"You will never guess what just happened," he announces, stopping before her with a goofy grin on his face.

"What?" she asks excitedly. Maybe he's gotten a date.

"The FBI is here!" he exclaims in a loud whisper. "I met an FBI agent!"

Bianca screws up her face in confusion. "Uh… run that by me again?"

"He's here because he thinks one of the teachers is a drug dealer!" Cameron hisses, practically jumping up and down. "I just let him into the AV closet!"

Bianca frowns. "Are you sure this guy was a Fed?"

"Uh… yeah," Cameron returns, his tone implying she's dim. "He showed me the badge. I think I know what an official FBI badge looks like, Bianca."

Bianca continues to frown. "That makes no sense."

"What makes no sense?" her sister's voice sounds behind her. "The cafeteria's recycling system? I mean, seriously… we need to _sort_ people!"

Bianca cringes at her sister's comment – not to mention shrill voice – and turns to address Kat. Kat is standing behind her, Patrick Verona at her side.

"Guys," Cameron hisses, grinning that goofy grin again. "I met an FBI agent!"

Bianca is still wearing her cringing frown. Kat blinks, and stares at Cameron in disbelief.

Patrick seems… concerned? Bianca frowns harder.

"Haha," Kat returns. "Very funny."

"No," Cameron insists. "I did! I let him into the AV closet so he could look at the security tapes!"

Kat stares at him incredulously. "Right."

"I'm serious! He's waging war on drugs and I helped him."

Cameron grins proudly, sticking out his chest.

Bianca offers him a half-hearted smile.

Kat continues to stare incredulously. "Did you see his badge?"

"Well, _duh_, Kat, I'm not an idiot," Cameron returns. "Of course I saw his badge – I take my job as AV club president very seriously, you know."

Kat frowns. "I don't understand. Why would the FBI come _here_?"

"What did this guy look like?"

Bianca looks at Patrick, surprised he's taking an interest. Kat frowns at him too.

"Short," Cameron replies. "Well… not short, I guess. Maybe like 6 foot? He had brown hair and this _awesome _leather jacket."

Patrick cringes.

Kat's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"I got to go," Patrick says.

"Patrick!" Kat bellows after him.

Patrick books it down the hallway.

Bianca exchanges a look with Cameron. "What was that all about?" she asks.

"I don't want to talk about it," Kat snaps. "Can we just go to the car and get the hell out of here?"

She storms off in the opposite direction that Patrick took.

Bianca sighs, shrugs at Cameron, and follows Kat.

This was going to be a long drive home.

* * *

Dean's been searching the monitors connected to the school security system for hours with little success. He's bored, he's cranky, and his ass is falling asleep.

Then it happens. He watches one man leave the teacher's lounge and head for his classroom. Dean's eyes follow him the whole way, across multiple monitors. He rummages through his coat pocket, pulling out the crumpled research Sam had given him.

There, in the missing person's report Sam yanked from the police files, is a picture of the man from the security monitor. His name is Maurice Hopkins, and he has been missing for two weeks.

The door swings open. Dean whirls guiltily and finds Patrick standing in the doorway.

"Dude," Patrick says. "You know you've been in here for like three hours, right?"

"How the hell did you get in here?" Dean demands. "I locked that!"

Patrick raises an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?"

Dean blinks. Then he shrugs. Because he really should have known better. Of course this kid can pick a lock.

"Look, are you finished? Are you driving me home? Or should I hitch a ride with Kat and her sister?"

"Kat has a sister? Ooh, introduce me."

"Sure thing. Oh, but just so you know? She's a fifteen year old cheerleader."

Dean's smirk vanishes.

"How'd you know I was in here?" he asks suspiciously.

"You told Cameron James you were with the FBI," Patrick returns. "He hasn't stopped bragging since he met you. All afternoon, he's been telling everyone who will listen that he's helping win the war on drugs. Next time? Just pick the damn lock."

Dean rolls his eyes. Just great.

He's found Maurice Hopkins. The guy is working at the high school as a math teacher. Dean is positive he's the demon leaving sulfuric residue around the building. Patrick's on his case, Cameron's blowing his cover...

He needs Sam.

"Hey, do you think Sam could borrow your bike?" Dean asks.

Patrick stares at him, incredulous. "Can he drive a bike?"

"Uh…"

"No way," Patrick snaps, seeing Dean's hesitation. "No way in hell your brother is getting on my bike."

Dean rolls his eyes yet again.

Then he remembers Patrick picking the lock. He remembers Izzy talking about her son's ghost hunting hobby.

He wonders…

Someone that is neither Dean nor Patrick clears their throat from the doorway.

Both of them start, obvious guilt on their faces as they spin towards the door.

A middle-aged Asian woman stands there, her black hair in a no-nonsense bun, wearing a tan suit.

"Mr. Verona," she drawls. "Breaking and entering, I see? What a shocker."

She turns to Dean. "And you are?"

Patrick closes his eyes. Clearly something along the lines of 'oh, shit,' is running through his mind.

Dean smirks, moving in for the kill. He shakes the woman's hand, much to her surprise. "Agent Morrison," he says. "I'm with the FBI. We're looking for a suspected drug dealer?"

The woman cocks an eyebrow, looking unconvinced, until Dean whips out his badge, waves it under her nose, and then asks, "Let me guess… you're a student teacher?"

She blushes. "Uh… no… I'm the principal. Linda Holland."

"No way?" Dean leans in, operating on total flirt mode. "You are way too young to be a school principal."

She giggles. "Oh, you don't mean that."

"Sure I do. How old are you? Twenty four? Twenty five?"

More giggling. "You are too much!"

Dean leans in and smirks harder. "Why, thank you."

Patrick rolls his eyes and clears his throat pointedly. Dean ignores him. Maybe Linda was older… considerably older… but she wasn't unattractive. After all, age was just a number, and Dean Winchester decided what was sexy for himself.

Maybe he could get her number…

"So… Agent _Morrison_," Patrick drawls sarcastically. "Are you finished in here?"

Dean glares. The principal narrows her eyes at Patrick. "Exactly what are you doing in here, Verona?" she asked. "Let me guess… you work for the Feds too?"

"Aw, leave him be," Dean says, waving the kid off. "He's my kid cousin. I let him tag along sometimes – you know, when it's nothing classified."

Patrick glares at him.

Linda smiles. "Wow, that's… nice of you."

"Yeah, well… got to do what I can for the kid, right? I mean, Aunt Izzy's husband croaked a few years back, and a boy needs a strong male figure in his life. Of course, not so sure if I'm it, but…"

"Oh, I'm sure you are."

"Thank you ma'am, that means a lot," Dean grins. "You know… we should probably discuss security detail, you and me… I mean, if I'm going to be frequenting this joint, you need to be on the up and up."

Patrick huffs impatiently. Dean ignores him and muscles on.

"Maybe you should give me your number. We'll grab a bite, talk potential drug dealers?"

He winks. She grins slyly. "I wouldn't be a suspect in this case, would I?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," he grins back. "I can read people, and I sense you're an honest woman. Dangerous in your own way, maybe…"

"Oh, come on!" Patrick exclaims.

"So… about that number?"

She gives it to him.

When she finally leaves, Dean steps out of the AV closet, Patrick hot on his heels, and shuts the door behind him. Patrick is pissed as they make their way down the hall, headed for the trig classroom.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he demands.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Bull shit! You were hitting on my principal!"

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I like a classy older lady."

"You cannot _date_ my principal!"

"I can date whoever I want!"

"No you can't! Not if it's my principal!"

"Geez, you're possessive. What, the Kat lady not enough for you?"

Patrick frowns, suddenly noticing what part of the school they're in. "Dude, where are we going? Parking lot is _that_ way."

He points behind them.

"I know. We're not going to the parking lot."

"Well, then where the hell are we going? What, are you cruising for more chicks? You going to invite my English teacher to the drive-in?"

"That depends. How hot is your English teacher?"

"Where are we going?"

"To see your trig teacher."

"You're aware that Mr. Jenkins is a man, right?"

"Actually, his name is Maurice Hopkins," Dean replies. "He lives in the next county over, and he went missing two weeks ago. When did Mr. Jenkins show up here?"

Patrick blinks. "Uh… he was filling in for our regular teacher. She's on maternity leave, and… she left two weeks ago."

Dean sees the light bulb go on over the kid's head.

"Sam and I think he's a demon," Dean says.

"Great. So why are we going _towards_ him?"

"To see if he is a demon… and then to get some information."

"Information?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You're going to interrogate a demon?"

"You betcha."

"Does that usually work?"

"If you got the right tools."

"So… why am I helping you and not Sam?"

"Because you're here and Sam's not."

Patrick falls silent. They don't speak again until they reach Mr. Jenkins' trig classroom.

"All right," Dean says. "Go in there and ask him a question about trig."

Patrick stares.

"What?" Dean demands impatiently.

"I don't talk to teachers," he says.

Dean snorts. "Oh, _I'm_ sorry. Wouldn't want to ruin your _image_."

"Like that Fonzie thing you've got going is an accident."

"Bite your tongue, heathen! This right here is all James Dean, with a dash of Clint Eastwood."

Patrick snorts this time. "You know James Dean was a closet homosexual, right?"

Dean stares at him. "Go in there and ask your teacher a question about trig. Slip in the word Cristo. And maybe I'll forget about the blasphemy you just uttered."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I just threaten your masculinity?"

"Get your ass in there!"

Patrick sighs. He rolls his eyes. And then he ambles into the classroom.

Dean has to admit, the kid is good. James Cagney has got nothing on Patrick Verona.

Of course, Patrick Verona's got nothing on Dean Winchester.

"Hey, Mr. Jenkins," Patrick rumbles.

Dean ducks behind the open door, watching closely.

"Mr. Verona," the trig teacher comments dryly, sounding eerily similar to Principal Holland. "Imagine seeing you on school grounds after the final bell has rung. I don't suppose you're here to discuss your test scores? Or maybe you're just looking to steal my wallet."

Dean allows himself a silent chuckle, inexplicably proud. The kid's got quite a reputation.

Patrick smirks. "Nah. I wouldn't do you like that, Mr. Jenkins. I don't go in for cheap leather."

The teacher snorts. "How can I help you?"

"I actually did want to discuss my test scores," Patrick says. "Um, that last test we had on chapter 11…"

"You got a B, Mr. Verona," Jenkins interrupts. "That's hardly a failing grade. Much better than the grade I assume your quivering peers expected you to get. And the last I checked, you weren't the grade-grubbing sort."

"Yeah, well, it's about auto shop," Patrick continues, and Dean smirks again. Of course the kid's in auto shop. "I'm trying to pull up my GPA. I'm in danger of getting kicked out of the program."

"I wasn't aware of that."

"Yeah, and I just thought if we could go over the material again, I might do better on the final? You know, enough to help my GPA?"

"I don't know…"

"Please?"

"It's just that most of the time teachers receive a notice when a student in a special program is doing poorly…"

"You didn't get it?"

"No…"

"Hmm…"

Dean stares at Patrick, wondering what the hell is taking so long.

Finally, Patrick shrugs. "Cristo?" he offers.

The teacher's eyes turn big, empty and black. He hisses, flinching backwards.

Patrick's eyes go wide. Dean rushed forward, flask of holy water in his hands.

"Bad move, guys," the demon hisses.

Dean hits Jenkins/Hopkins with the holy water, and the teacher hollers in pain, smoking.

"Could say the same for you," Dean spits, grabbing the demon by his shirt collar and dousing him with the holy water again. "Get the door!"

Patrick heeds the order, running for the classroom door and shutting it firmly.

Dean slams the demon into the desk, bending him over the top, scattering math tests all over the floor. The demon fights back, but Dean hits him with more holy water and a punch in the face, just for effect.

"Where's your yellow-eyed pal?" Dean asks dryly, waving the flask in the writhing, groaning demon's face.

The demon smirks through the pain. "Around."

"Yeah? Around where?"

"Like I'm going to tell you."

Dean splashes him with the holy water again, and the demon cries out.

"Go ahead!" the demon roars through the pain. "You think a little holy water's going make me talk? You chuckleheads don't scare me… not as much as he does."

"That so?" Dean returns idly.

He grabs the demon by the jaw and squeezes its mouth open, ignoring the thrashing of the man underneath him. He pours the holy water down the demon's throat.

Howling, fighting, and steaming, the demon tries to break free and fails. Dean smirks in satisfaction as the demon's head hits the desktop and his eyes roll back in his head.

Out for the count.

Dean tosses his keys in Patrick's direction. The kid is standing there, staring at the unconscious math teacher sliding off the desk and hitting the floor. But Patrick catches the keys with killer reflexes, even though his eyes never leave the body on the ground.

"Get the car."

Patrick blinks, shocked. Then slowly he smirks. Dean instantly regrets the impulse, suddenly remembering the kid is not Sam.

"Uh…" he backpedals. "I mean…"

"Oh, no," Patrick drawls. "Too late now. I've already got the keys."

Dean glares.

His smirk widens. "No take backs."

"No take backs?" Dean explodes, unable to contain himself. "What are you, seven?"

Patrick snickers and turns, headed for the door. "Hey!" Dean hisses after him. "Pull up by the window!"

"Ok."

"Hey!"

"What?"

"You scratch my baby, I will kill you!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Patrick vanishes down the hall.

Dean runs to the door and pushes it shut. Then he turns around and glares at the prostrate demon on the floor.

He so did not think this through.


	9. Family Activities

Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with _Supernatural_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: I just want to thank everyone who reviewed from the bottom of my heart: Kim, nikki, mullu, Been there Done That.016, In the Pages, ann, Indie Sol, rach'na lasair, and unlovedtears 14! You guys are awesome. I'd also like to apologize for taking a year to update. No joke – it's literally been a year. Things have kind of sucked for awhile, and I feel like I'm starting to finally get back on track… and the writing is coming easier again, so yay! An update! Hopefully the first of many to come, in short succession.

Enough with the pity party, and on with the fic! Thanks again!

* * *

Chapter 8: Family Activities

Patrick would never admit it, but right now he's shaking.

He runs through the school halls, Dean's keys jingling in his hand, and ducks out the back entrance, racing for the Impala on the other end of the parking lot.

He's hunted before, but only spirits. Ghosts are peanuts. The lowest of the low on the scare-you-shitless-meter. He's never run up against a demon before. Demons are for the big leagues, and the league he's been playing in, he realizes now, is bush.

He slides into the driver's seat of the black classic, slamming the door and turning the key in the ignition. He takes a brief second to run his hands along the steering wheel, his breath catching in his throat.

Dean's car is magnificent. The rumble of that engine is the single most beautiful sound in the universe. Patrick is not going to tell him that.

He shifts gears and pumps that gas, wheeling out of the parking space and roaring around the back of the building, sidling up outside the window of his trigonometry classroom. He ducks out of the car, engine running, as Dean's head appears in the window.

"Dude," Dean snaps. "What took you so long?"

"Why'd you park so far away?" Patrick retorts.

Dean shakes his head, looking pissed, and vanishes, grumbling. Patrick frowns at the window, waiting.

He doesn't wait long. His math teacher's lolling head appears in the window next. He hears Dean grunting. Then Mr. Jenkins slides feet first out the window and lands in the bushes.

Dean jumps down next. Patrick stares at the body of his math teacher. "Dude," Dean growls. "Why didn't you catch him?"

Patrick blinks. "You didn't tell me to."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Pop the trunk."

He doesn't argue. He simply rounds the Impala's bumper and opens the trunk. _Thud! _Dean dumps the math teacher's body inside. Patrick frowns at the white, intricate symbol drawn on the inside of the hood for a mere second before Dean slams it shut. He's left with the impression of a star and a circle.

"Drive!" Dean orders.

Again, Patrick does not hesitate. He flies back around the bumper and dives into the driver's seat. Seconds later, Dean slides into the car beside him. Patrick throws the gear into drive and peels out of the parking lot.

"Hey!" Dean reprimands him. "Careful with my car."

"You told me to drive," Patrick defends himself.

"I didn't say drive recklessly!"

"Did you forget about the math teacher in the trunk?"

"Do you really want to get pulled over with the math teacher in the trunk?"

Silence. Patrick tightens his hands on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, foot easing off the gas. Dean sighs, hand rubbing his face.

"I can't believe I let you drive," he grumbles.

They're silent until Patrick reaches home and pulls into his driveway. Dean's the first one out of the car. "Sammy!" he bellows.

Patrick is slow to shut down the car and climb out. Sam runs out of the house just as Patrick shuts the car door. "What?" Sam asks.

"Demon in the trunk. Help me."

"_What?_"

"Help me, damn it!"

Patrick stares, useless, as Sam rushes back inside the house. "Open the garage!" Dean orders.

Patrick does as commanded, fishing in his coat for the garage door opener and then pushing the button. The door rolls up. Dean heads inside.

Sam rushes back outside, a dining room chair in one hand and a large duffel bag in the other. Patrick watches, wide-eyed, as Sam runs into the garage and starts throwing things down. Dean's got a heavy leather-bound journal in his hands now, and he's crouching on the garage floor, a large rock in his hands, scratching some sort of design on the cement. Patrick winces, knowing his mother will be pissed when she sees all this.

He still doesn't move. He's rooted to the spot. He can't decide where to go or what to do. Honestly, he's afraid. Not something he'll admit – ever – but he _is_ afraid. There is a demon in his math teacher, his math teacher is in the trunk of Dean's car, and Dean and Sam are tearing up his garage. For the first time in a long time, Patrick feels lost.

Dean's done drawing. He tosses the rock aside and then rifles through the duffel Sam's left on the built-in workbench. Sam plants the chair in the middle of whatever's on the floor. Both brothers rush out of the garage, Dean holding a beat up plastic water bottle.

"Trunk!" Dean commands.

Patrick opens the trunk. Dean shoves him out of the way and brandishes the water bottle at the prostrate man inside. When Mr. Jenkins – Maurice Hopkins – the demon – whoever he is doesn't move, Dean thrusts the bottle at Sam, who checks all around them for observers, and then Dean reaches into the trunk and hefts the demon onto his shoulders.

They hurry back inside the garage. Slowly, Patrick closes the trunk and follows. As he enters the garage, Sam and Dean tie the man to the chair.

"Close the door," Dean grunts.

Patrick does as he's told. The door lowers slowly, groaning and squeaking all the way. Patrick stays where he is and watches the other two men finish strapping Mr. Jenkins down. He studies the symbol – it's the same as the one drawn inside Dean's trunk.

The man's secured to the chair now. Dean and Sam step back, out of the circle symbol, leaning against the walls and staring at the demon. Patrick swallows and finds his voice. "What are you going to do?"

They stare at him. They stare at each other. Then Dean clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. Sam forces a smile and fields the question. "We're going to ask him some questions. Then we'll exorcise him."

Patrick frowns. "How are you going to get him to talk?"

Sam just looks at him, his smile vaguely hopeless. Dean looks up at Sam. "Well?" he asks. "You going to take that one too?"

Sam glares. "Why don't you?"

"Guys," Patrick growls. "What are you going to do to him?"

"We don't know yet," Dean retorts.

Patrick stares. Neither brother will look at him. "Great," Patrick snaps. His fear is fading fast; his anger is replacing it. "Where are we right now?"

Dean frowns. Sam takes a deep breath. "Patrick…"

"In my garage," Patrick cuts him off. "_My_ garage. You are planning on exorcising – possibly _torturing _– a demon in _my_ garage, and you won't even tell me what you're going to do?"

Silence. Dean and Sam both shuffle about awkwardly, refusing to look him in the eye. Patrick shakes his head, his lips tight, glaring at them.

"What the hell is that circle?" he demands.

Dean sighs harshly. Sam glances at the symbol and takes a deep breath. "It's called a devil's trap," he explains. "If you get a demon inside one, he can't get back out."

Patrick is still shaking his head. He turns from them, pacing, and cracks his neck. His eyes travel around the garage, taking in all the clutter and dirt and grease, his fists clenching as he resists the urge to punch a wall.

The devil in the trap groans, and Patrick's shoulders tense as he swivels around. Slowly, Mr. Jenkins is coming to. Try as he might, Patrick cannot bite down the panic that tightens his chest muscles and upsets his stomach. His eyes are wide as he looks from one Winchester to the other, desperately yet silently begging for more instructions.

Sam tries to give him a reassuring smile, but Dean isn't even looking in his direction. He doesn't see the panic. Instead, he marches right up to the waking demon, careful to remain outside the circle, and glares at the poor possessed math teacher. "Hey!" he barks at the man. "Wakey, wakey, you evil son of a bitch."

Patrick swallows hard, looking to Sam again. Another not-quite-reassuring smile crosses the taller Winchester's face. The demon wakes up fully, blinking at his surroundings. It doesn't take long for his eyes to narrow and his mouth to twitch into a provoking smirk.

"Oh, tell me this isn't what this looks like," he drawls sarcastically. "An interrogation? Really?"

"You bet your ugly demonic ass this is an interrogation," Dean retorts, not skipping a beat. "Or it could be an exorcism. Your call, really."

The demon barks out a laugh. "Right. My call. Because you pretty boy bastards aren't planning on exorcising me as soon as I spill my guts, right? Please, kiddo. You don't become a demon by being naïve."

"I'll bet you don't," Dean smirks. "But let's face it; you're trapped like a rat with nowhere to go. No one's going to come for you. I got you here, in this garage, gallons of holy water at my disposal… and I'm pissed. You can either cooperate with me or face the longest, most painful exorcism of any demon's lifetime. Doesn't matter to me – I got all the time in the world."

"No you don't," the demon retorts, smug. "You've only got until Thursday. And you also don't have the stones to torture me right."

"Try me."

The demon snorts. "I'm not alone in this body, Winchester. You and your fellow caped crusaders aren't _really_ going to hurt an innocent, defenseless math teacher, are you?"

Patrick stares at Dean, waiting for an answer that won't make him vomit. Sam shares the panicked look. Dean just glares at the smug demon in the chair.

"Poor Mr. Hopkins and his critical angina," the demon simpers. "I can last days in here, but him? How long do you think _he'll_ last once things get ugly in this garage?"

Patrick swallows, staring at Dean. Sam's staring at him too, and Patrick gets the impression that as experienced as Sam might be in the demon department, he too doesn't know what Dean's about to do, and it shakes him.

Dean's quiet, but only for a moment. He leans forward, smirking at the demon.

"It's already ugly in this garage," Dean announces. Then he snatches the water bottle off the ground and showers the demon with it, right in the face.

Mr. Jenkins (Mr. Hopkins?) screams as the water hits him, steam billowing into the air, and Patrick jumps, glancing over his shoulder, suddenly in a panic about the neighbors. Dean doesn't even flinch. "Where's your yellow-eyed boss?" he barks. "And what does he want with Patrick?"

The demon laughs again. "Fuck you."

Dean sprays the holy water a second time, and again, the demon screams. Patrick's back hits the wall before he even realizes he's backing away from the scene.

"Wrong answer," Dean growls. "Guess again."

"Give it up, boys," the demon drawls. "I'm not telling you a thing."

Another splash of holy water and another terrifying scream. "Stop it!" Patrick bellows.

Dean ignores him. "I can do this all day, you bastard! Start talking!"

"Dean," Sam says quietly. "Maybe we should…"

"What?" Dean snaps. "Lighten up? Take it easy? It's a demon, Sam, and it's been going after our brother. Either shut up and help me, or take the kid in the house."

Sam sighs and falls silent. Patrick stares at him incredulously, too pissed off for it to register that Dean just called him his brother. He shakes his head and levels a glare at the oldest Winchester. "It's not _just_ a demon," he says. "My math teacher is in there too. You're going to hurt him."

"Oh, my bleeding heart," Dean grumbles sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He returns his attention to the demon. "You ready to start talking?"

"And interrupt the show?" the demon simpers. "I love a good family feud."

Dean shrugs. "Your one way ticket to Hell, then." He splashes the demon in the face with holy water once again, and another scream echoes in the garage. "Sam," Dean orders. "Get Dad's journal."

Patrick is still stock still against the garage wall. His fists are clenching at his sides as he glares at his brothers. Sam runs to do Dean's bidding and starts digging through his duffel bag, positioned on the workbench at the back of the garage.

"Let's try this again," Dean says, pacing in front of the demon. "You tell me where your boss is and what he wants with my brother, and maybe I don't send your ass to Hell. Or, you can keep sitting there, smirking and making smartass comments, and I'll start exorcising you right here and now. I'll take my time – hours, maybe. You ready for that?"

"Bring it on," the demon retorts, his eyes black and glassy, and his voice a rasping hiss. "You whiny little bitch."

Dean smirks. "Sammy?"

Sam moves away from the workbench slowly, that same leather-bound journal from before cradled in his hands. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Start reading."

Sam swallows. Patrick stares at him, and Sam does a half-ass job of avoiding his eyes. "_Exorcizamus te,_" he reads aloud. "_Omnis immundus spiritus…_"

The demon groans, its head lolling and its eyes rolling.

"Ready to talk?" Dean smirks.

"I'll see you in Hell," the demon spits.

"Have it your way. Keep going, Sammy."

Sam looks hesitant, but only for a moment. "_Omnis satanica potestas_…"

The demon starts groaning again, and Sam stops. "Keep going," Dean orders.

Patrick watches the scene, wide-eyed. Sam is still hesitating. "Sam!" Dean barks. "Keep going."

"Yeah, Sammy," the demon drawls. "Don't worry; I can take it."

Dean flings more holy water in the demon's face. He moans, head whipping back and forth, as steam rolls off his skin. "Shut up," Dean says.

"When I get out again," the demon hisses. "I will track you down and peel your skin from your flesh!"

"Looking forward to it," Dean bites back. "Sam, will you keep reading already?"

Sam swallows. "_Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_," he reads. "_Omnis legio_, _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_…"

The demon cries out in agony. Sam hesitates. "You can end this," Dean taunts the demon. "Just tell me what I want to know. We'll call the whole thing off."

"Fuck off, you self-righteous prig!"

Dean chuckles. "Well, you can't say I didn't try. Finish it Sam."

Patrick watches the youngest Winchester's shoulders slump in relief. He reads through the rest of the rite, the demon in the garage groaning and screaming the whole way through. "_Benedictus Deus,_" Sam finishes. "_Gloria Patri_!"

The math teacher's head falls backward, and with one final scream the demon is expelled, a cloud of black smoke billowing out the man's mouth and slamming into the ceiling with a flash of fire.

It's too quiet. The garage is still and silent; a strange electricity in the air. Patrick watches his math teacher's head slump forward on his chest. He swallows and makes his way over to the devil's trap.

"That was a waste of time," Dean grumbles. Patrick ignores him. He comes to a stop by his math teacher's chair.

"Mr. Jenkins?" he asks. "Er… Hopkins?"

He gently pushes his fingers into the man's shoulder. Suddenly, the man's eyes fly open and he gasps for air. Patrick jumps, stumbling backwards. Sam shoves him out of the way.

"Where am I?" the man asks, fear in his voice.

"It's all right," Sam says soothingly, leaning over the man in the chair. "You're safe. Here, let me help you out of those."

He starts cutting the ropes, freeing the man. "I couldn't control my body," the man mumbles. "Someone else was controlling me… the things he made me do!"

"Shh," Sam murmurs. "It'll be ok. We'll get you home."

He looks to Patrick. "Keys?"

Patrick stares at him a moment. Finally, he snaps out of it and pulls the keys from his coat pocket. Sam catches them.

As Patrick stands uselessly in the garage, Sam and Dean support the man from the chair, out the garage, and into the driveway. He turns towards the window and sees them put the man in the Impala. Sam climbs into the driver's seat as Dean shuts the passenger door. The engine starts, and Sam backs the car down the drive. Dean sees them off, and then heads back to the garage. Patrick turns from the window and runs his hand through his hair.

Dean steps into the garage through the small side door and heads straight for the mess in the middle. "You all right, kid?" he asks, barely sparing Patrick a glance.

Patrick glares at his back. "Just great."

"Sorry we didn't get any answers," Dean goes on. "That demon wasn't talking. It was time to send him packing."

Patrick says nothing. He tightens his jaw and glowers at his brother's head and says nothing.

"I got this," Dean says. "I'll clean up. You head on in… raid your mother's liquor cabinet or something."

He chuckles at his own joke. Patrick turns and leaves the garage, letting the side door slam behind him. He stands in the drive and stares at his house. There's a case of beer in the fridge, and his mother's pretty lax about things like that… she won't get pissed if he drinks half of it.

Patrick doesn't want to go in that house. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be anywhere that doesn't remind him of an exorcism.

He spares a look back at the garage, and then grabs his bike. He pushes it down the driveway so as not to alert Dean. Then he climbs on the bike and starts her up. In seconds, he's on the road, wind whipping past his face, headed for the part of town he wishes he could avoid. Still, that's where he's going.

He has nowhere else to go.

* * *

Dean cusses when he hears the motorcycle in the driveway. Dropping the chair he'd been in the middle of moving, he rushes out of the garage just in time to see the back wheel of Patrick's bike disappearing around the bush at the end of the drive.

"Damn it!" he roars.

There's nothing to do about it. Sam's got the Impala, Izzy's car is in the shop, and Dean's stranded at the Veronas.

He's pissed.

That damn kid. Dean wants to throttle him. It doesn't matter to him that the exorcism must have freaked Patrick out. The way Izzy talks, Patrick wants to be a hunter. Patrick tracks ghosts and takes them out and gives her a new gray hair every other week. If the kid wants to hunt, he has to learn how to take down a demon.

He hopes he's scared the kid straight, he decides. Maybe now the kid gets it. No one wants to be a hunter. If he can stay out of the life, he ought to.

Sam will yell, Dean is sure. He'll be pissed. He'll say they shouldn't have exorcised the demon in front of the kid. He'll say they need to be more sensitive. Dean doesn't care about that so much. That's Sam's thing.

Sam will say Patrick needs more training. That they need to show him the ropes. That the kid's a target and nothing's going to change that and he needs to know how to protect himself. Dean disagrees.

Patrick should be left alone. He needs to be safe, locked away in Padua with his mom and his auto shop classes and his pretty girlfriend. No demons, no ghosts, no Winchesters.

Sighing, Dean turns around and heads back into the garage. The place is a mess, and he has a feeling Izzy won't be happy when she sees it.

He kind of doesn't care about that either. Who is happy, anyway?

* * *

Patrick parks the bike on the street. The sun is setting, and he bets that the Stratford family is inside eating dinner. They seem like that kind of family – you know, the sit-down dinners, talk about your day types.

He checks for Doc Stratford's car, but doesn't see it. Kat's Volvo is parked in the drive though, so he knows she's there. He decides to use the front door this time.

He knocks, hoping she'll be the one to answer. But the world is against him today, and instead he gets perky little Bianca.

"Hey Patrick," she greets him, with an irritatingly knowing grin. "Here to see Kat?"

Patrick stares at her, trying to keep his face blank. "Yeah."

"In her room… but you better be quick. My dad's on-call tonight, so he could be home any minute… and if he finds you two upstairs…"

Patrick's already pushed past her and started the climbing the staircase. Bianca lets loose a harsh, exasperated sigh, and slams the front door. "You're welcome!" she calls after him.

Kat's waiting for him in the doorway to her room with a sly smirk and a cocked eyebrow. "So," she greets him. "Have fun with your older brother the FBI agent?"

Patrick stops in the hall and just looks at her.

"So is your brother _really_ the FBI?" she asks, still looking devious. "Or should I be calling the cops? Because impersonating a federal agent is a serious offense, you know."

Patrick grabs her around the face and smashes his lips against hers.

She makes a startled sound in the back of her throat, but then she grabs onto his arms and kisses him back. He backs her into her bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him.

He doesn't want to talk. He can't talk. What is there to say? He doesn't talk about his feelings, he doesn't cry on people's shoulders. And even if he did, how could he even begin to articulate what he's seen today? She doesn't know anything about demons. She doesn't believe in demons. He can't talk about it. And if he could, he still wouldn't say a word.

His lips are still on hers, his tongue crashing into her mouth. She fights with him, trying to kiss back harder than he can, and Patrick lifts her off the ground and falls onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.

Suddenly, she breaks free, her hands on his shoulders. "We can't," she says breathlessly. "My dad… he could be home any minute…"

"I don't care," he replies, and starts kissing his way down her neck.

She stifles a moan and he smirks into her skin. "Patrick," she hisses. "This is not the time or place."

"Mm-hmm."

"I need to see clean test results so I know you don't have an STI!"

Patrick frowns then, lifting his head up to stare at her. "What was that?"

She shrugs, her face serious and unflinching. "We have to get tested first. That's how I do things."

He stares a second more, and then he shrugs too. She's Kat, and this sounds like something she would say. He's actually not that surprised.

"Can we at least make out?"

She scoffs. "Am I your sex toy?"

He snorts, and then smirks. "Nah. Not until I get tested."

She gives him a hard shove and he rolls off her, sighing as he sprawls out on her bed. Kat raises herself up on her elbow and frowns down at him.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Sure."

She scoffs again. "Right. And I'm obviously a complete idiot, so I totally believe that."

Patrick groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

She nods and looks down at the bedspread. "Ok."

They fall into a long silence, heavy with tension and unasked questions and the memory of an exorcism Patrick would like to forget. He always said he wanted to be a hunter, but to be honest, most of that was backlash against John's wishes. John had always told him he had to finish school and do something else.

Then he'd turned around and raised his two oldest kids to be hunters. Damned hypocrite.

Patrick thinks he gets it now. John, for all his faults, wanted better for his last son than he'd been able to give the first two. Still, he's not sure it will matter in the long run. Even if the demon doesn't kill him, even if he gets a shot at normal… Patrick thinks he might be doomed. He thinks he might not have a choice, that he'll always come back to what he knows, that he'll become John… or Sam… or Dean. He thinks…

He wants to stop thinking. So he rolls over on his side and cups Kat's cheek with his hand, pulling her down for another kiss. She responds, gently, and when he pulls away, she's frowning at him again.

"I'm not your stress ball," she tells him. "You can't just make out with me whenever you're upset. I'd like to know exactly what I'm putting out for."

Patrick grins at her. "You're not really putting out at all."

"Seriously."

He drops the grin and sighs again. "I can't really talk about it. I just wanted to see you."

Patrick regrets that comment immediately when he sees it go straight to her head. She smiles at him, this weird little light behind her eyes. He's said something that genuinely makes her happy. She almost never looks this happy.

He feels like an asshole, partly because he's still not ready to give her what he thinks she's expecting, but mostly because he's afraid he's going to get her killed.


End file.
